


Part of You Indefinitely

by flowerfan



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Blood (minor), Canon-compliant through end of the series, Communication, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love, M/M, Medical issues, Patrick!whump, Recovery, Relationship Issues, Sickfic, future!fic, loss of consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 274
Kudos: 399





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited beyond words to be posting this fic, my first in the Schitt's Creek fandom - this show has captured my heart in ways it is hard to explain. To my readers who haven't seen the show, I hope you will give this fic a try - and more than that, please go watch Schitt's Creek, it's a joyful balm in this difficult world.
> 
> A note on the medical issues - this is a fic, not realism, I'm not a doctor. Please do not rely on anything medical mentioned here. 
> 
> This fic is complete, and will post 1-2x per week.
> 
> Finally, many thanks to my ever-willing beta, Perry_avenue, who is following me with bells on into yet another fandom. This wouldn't be nearly as much fun without her.
> 
> Title from the song Patrick sings to David during their marriage vows, Mariah Carey's _Always Be My Baby._

David is arranging a new shipment of lavender sage lip balms by the cash register – he’s not sure they will sell as well as the honey vanilla but they are definitely more interesting – when he hears the crash. 

He grumbles again at Patrick’s insistence on spending their Sunday morning at the store when they could have just as easily slept in another few hours, and ambles to the backroom to see what happened. It’s the last calm thought he processes.

There are wires hanging from a ceiling light fixture, a step ladder tilted at an angle against the shelves, and Patrick, lying on the floor, oddly twitching. David crashes to his knees, hands flying to Patrick’s head, as words flow out of his mouth in a panicked stream. “Patrick – Patrick- are you okay? Patrick-”

Patrick is still breathing, David can feel his breath on his cheek when he presses his face close, but he’s not responding. David’s hands are fluttering up and down Patrick’s body, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong. He tries to hold Patrick’s head steady as his husband’s muscles continue to spasm. “Patrick, wake up. Please, come on, please, Patrick.”

David can feel something warm and wet in Patrick’s hair, and he faintly realizes that Patrick is bleeding. “Oh my god, Patrick, open your eyes, please.” He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls emergency services, one hand resting on Patrick’s head, trembling so hard he can only hope the operator can understand what he’s saying.

Something in his brain finally connects the wires still swinging above him with Patrick unconscious on the floor and his breath leaves him in a horrified gasp. “Send help now, right now. I think my husband has been electrocuted.”

*****  
It’s David’s first time riding in an ambulance while he is sober enough to remember it, and it’s terrifying. He can’t wish for anything to dull his senses right now, though, because he needs to be here for Patrick. He needs to get a grip, to stay strong, to not fall apart like he absolutely thinks he’s about to do, because Patrick needs him to keep it together.

The EMTs don’t offer much information, and the ride to the hospital in Elmdale is a nightmare of spiraling anxiety. David feels like his chest is going to implode, the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is his hand on Patrick’s ankle, his arm stretched out to touch him in the only place he can reach. 

He wants to say something, to do something, but his voice seems to have abandoned him. Finally, the questions in his head break through. “Is he going to be okay?” 

He barely hears the noncommittal answer. Patrick has to be okay. Their story can’t end here. They haven’t even been married a year. David has plans for their one-year wedding anniversary, only a few months away. He’s going to take Patrick on a hike. He’s going to do it right, make up for how David almost ruined Patrick’s proposal with his grumpy mood. He’s not going to complain, and Patrick’s not going to get stabbed in the foot with a branch. David is going to pack a picnic, with Patrick’s favorite foods this time, and serenade him at sunset - or maybe not quite sunset, because hiking back down in the dark seems like a bad idea, but he still has time to figure that out. They still have time, they are supposed to have time. Lots of time.

David’s come far enough to believe that he’s pretty good at making Patrick happy, and at letting himself be happy, but there’s so much more he wants to do. 

So many more smiles he needs to see on Patrick’s face.

There’s a rush of activity as they arrive at the hospital, and David has to let go of Patrick’s ankle, even the loss of that small connection paining him. “I’ll be right here,” he says, although Patrick can’t hear him, and no one is listening. “I’ll be here.”

*****  
David is pacing in the waiting room. He has already filled out the necessary forms, his handwriting barely legible since he’s still shaking all over, and now there is nothing to do but wait. He knows he should probably call someone and let them know what’s going on, but Patrick’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, and his own parents are in Fiji. Stevie’s in New York for a conference, and Alexis is in L.A. He’s got to handle this on his own. 

David used to be good at handling crises. He prided himself on it. Even when he was at the height of his drug happy party boy phase, he was always able to make a call to the right consulate and get Alexis sprung from whatever ridiculous situation she had wound up in. He could act the part of a confident, competent savior, equipped with enough money and pull to get things done. But things are different now. Patrick has changed him, has cut right through all the walls he built to protect himself. His defenses are gone. And now this panicking, flailing, frightened man is all Patrick has left.

It seems like forever but finally a doctor comes out to talk with him. Patrick is stable, but still unconscious. Apparently he is more impaired than would be expected from a minor electric shock, because he hit his head when he fell. Tests are being run.

David takes a step towards the doctor as his vision narrows, and someone is there next to him, a hand on his arm. “Would you like to sit down?” He doesn’t seem to have any choice, as he’s pushed into a chair, and a moment later handed a cup of water.

David takes a sip, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together and forcing himself to take a deep breath. “When can I see him? Can I see him, please?”

Not yet, they tell him. Soon. They’ll let him know.

*****  
_Four hours earlier_

David wakes to the feel of his husband’s lips on his own, and he hums and wraps a hand around Patrick’s head and holds him close. But instead of finding a sleep-warm, enticingly aroused and naked Patrick shuffling closer to him under the sheets, he opens his eyes to see Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, already showered, a towel around his waist.

“Mmm, no, come back to bed.”

“Can’t do that. We’re going to the store early, remember?”

David groans and flops over, pulling the duvet over his head. “I don’t want to.”

“But we said we’d do it, and if we don’t, our lovely shelves will be empty on one of our best selling days of the week.”

David doesn’t really care to remember this fact, although it’s true. Thursday afternoon he and Patrick had gotten into a disagreement about whether to keep sourcing peppermint foot cream from a particular vendor, and by the time David shut his mouth long enough to figure out why Patrick had developed a sudden aversion to Mr. Braden (he was unforgivably rude to their intern), some rather less than pleasant things had been said by David, too. David suggested he make it up to Patrick by trading their regular Thursday evening at the store doing inventory and stocking shelves for an impromptu date night, and Patrick had agreed, on the condition that they come in early on Sunday instead.

“I’d like to suggest an amendment to our agreement,” David says, sitting up and slinging both arms around Patrick’s neck, loving the smile it brings to his husband’s face. “Come back to bed for just a little while, and I’ll put all the labels on the body milk bottles myself.” Patrick doesn’t like sticking labels on the bottles, he says the adhesive makes his fingertips itch.

“We’ll be late,” Patrick objects, but he’s already relaxing into David’s arms. 

David knows Patrick’s protest is mostly for show. He runs his tongue up the side of Patrick’s neck, inhaling the smell of his warm, damp skin. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Patrick caves, attacking David’s mouth in a hungry kiss, as they both fall back onto the bed. “You always do.”

*****  
It seems like forever, but finally someone comes and tells him that he can see Patrick. They lead David down hallways and around corners and finally into a room. He goes past an empty bed and a partly pushed back curtain and then he’s there, staring helplessly at his husband, laid out unnaturally where he absolutely does not belong.

All the tropes are true, David thinks to himself. Patrick looks small, diminished by the machines and the wires and the strangeness of the setting. He’s lying flat on his back, which is just wrong – Patrick sleeps on his side, his knees always bent, body twisted around a pillow or the sheets or, when at all possible, David. He says it’s because he doesn’t breathe well lying on his back, but David knows he likes the comfort of it, of being surrounded and held. David likes it too.

They’re a good pair, right for each other in all the most important ways. David swallows hard and moves closer to this fragile version of his beloved husband. _Patrick has to be okay._

“Here, sit down,” the nurse at his side says, sliding a chair closer to the bed. “You can touch him.”

David sits down, stiffly, and hovers his hand near Patrick’s.

“You won’t hurt him.” The nurse is looking at Patrick’s chart, and then back to David. “He hit his head pretty hard, but there’s no sign of any other injuries.”

“Is he… is he in pain?” David thought Patrick was still unconscious. 

“No, he shouldn’t be,” she says. “But we’ll ask him when he wakes up, and go from there.”

David bites his lip, and forces the words out. “He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?”

The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and David forces himself not to flinch. “There’s nothing to be gained by not staying positive,” she says patronizingly, patting him twice and then, mercifully, leaving the room. 

David indulges in a moment of fury, imagining himself storming out of the room and demanding to speak to a doctor, throwing a Moira Rose-style tantrum until someone gives him better customer service, but then he sees Patrick’s hand twitch and all thoughts of histrionics disappear.

“Patrick?” David takes his husband’s hand and squeezes it. “Patrick, are you awake?” He reaches over and runs a finger along Patrick’s cheek. “I’m right here. Open your eyes, baby, look at me.” 

Shaking, he leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s dry lips, and then another. But there’s no response, no Sleeping Beauty moment of grateful awareness. David takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and sits back up. 

“It’s okay,” he says, scooting the chair closer so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and hold Patrick’s free hand in both of his own. “You don’t have to wake up yet. You can sleep some more if you need to. Rest all you want. Heal that beautiful head. I’ll be here when you wake up, Patrick. I’ll be right here.”

*****  
A doctor comes by a little while later, and tells David what he’s pretty much figured out on his own – they can’t say when Patrick will wake up. So far, they don’t have any reason to believe he won’t, which is good, as far as it goes. It’s not very precise, but Patrick suffered a head injury along with some level of electric shock, so they have to wait and see. They’ll run some more tests tomorrow if there’s no change, but they are “cautiously optimistic,” whatever that means.

After the doctor leaves David makes the mistake of googling “traumatic head injury.” He reads for a few minutes and then practically throws his phone across the room, watching as it slides across the linoleum floor and comes to a stop by the IV stand. He’s historically not very good at looking on the bright side, but he refuses to entertain the possibility that Patrick is going to be permanently disabled from his attempt to make the backroom overhead light stop flickering. 

He leans down against the bed, resting his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped in his own. He can feel the panic rising in his chest again, and he fights it, not wanting to be any more useless to Patrick than he already is.

“Hey, I know I said you could rest, but maybe just wake up for a minute?” he says softly into Patrick’s ear. “Just squeeze my hand, or blink your eyes. Can you do that for me?” He waits, not really expecting a reaction, but it doesn’t seem fair to ask for something and then not wait for an answer. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, okay? Even if you’re hurt, even if…” David can’t really put into words what it might be like if Patrick doesn’t recover. “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together. Just come back to me, okay? I can’t… I won’t make it if you don’t. I need you.”

“David.”

David looks up to see Alexis standing by the foot of Patrick’s bed, looking almost as pale as Patrick. Then she moves closer and folds David into a tight hug, squeezing him until he can hardly breathe. It’s the safest he’s felt since he heard the crash in the back room.

After a few minutes of Alexis’s pointy chin digging into his shoulder, David eases himself back. “Maybe give arm day a rest,” he says softly, as she loosens her boa-constrictor hold around his waist.

“Everyone always says I’m stronger than I look,” Alexis says, tilting her head as she gazes at him. “And you are too, David.”

He shrugs and glances away, his gaze inevitably going to Patrick, still just as quiet and unresponsive as he was a moment ago, and then back to his sister. “How are you here?” he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic of his questionable ability to handle this particular situation. “I thought you were in L.A.”

“That was last week.” Alexis drops her bag to the floor, then drags a chair around from the other side of the curtain and positions it next to David’s. “I was in Toronto, working with a new client, when Jocelyn called me.”

David blinks. “Jocelyn?”

“Yes, David, Jocelyn called me, when you didn’t answer your phone – and so did Twyla, Roland, Ronnie, and everyone else.” She waves her hand, apparently to indicate the universe of people blowing up her phone.

“But… why?”

“David, did you really think that an ambulance could show up in the middle of town and whisk you and Patrick away without anyone noticing?” Alexis boops his nose and looks from Patrick back to David. “They’re worried about you. Half of the town is in the waiting room right now.”

“Wait, what?”

Alexis lets a smile tug at the side of her mouth. “Kidding, no they’re not. But they’ll come, if we need them. Twyla did drop off some food, it’s in my bag. Muffins, or something, she said you didn’t even come get one this morning. And sandwiches.” Alexis reaches down and pulls out a bag.

“I’m not hungry,” David says.

“Yeah, because you and skipping meals is a good idea.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about,” David says, his voice cracking.

“I know, David,” Alexis says softly. “But you have to take care of yourself too. And then we can take care of Patrick.”

It’s what breaks him, finally, that “we,” and David loses it, sobbing in Alexis’s arms at the side of his husband’s hospital bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reaction to this fic has been amazing! Thank you so much for all your comments.

Alexis has gone to find them something to eat for dinner when it finally happens. David looks over and Patrick’s eyes are open. He’s looking right at him.

“Patrick, oh my god, Patrick.” David leans close, one hand cradling Patrick’s head, careful to avoid the bandage. “Honey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He’s babbling, fingers roaming over Patrick’s face, but Patrick’s eyes just blink at him and then drift closed. 

David watches intently for a few minutes and practically begs Patrick to open his eyes again, but despite his urging, Patrick’s eyes stay shut. Finally he rests his head against Patrick’s and sighs. “If this is to get me back for all those times I didn’t want to get out of bed, message received. I get it.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “Thanks for opening your eyes for me. Do it again soon, okay?”

David presses the buzzer for the nurse (thankfully it’s not the annoying one from this morning, someone else has come on duty) who comes in and listens to David explain what happened, and she smiles and says she’ll let the doctors know. Alexis gets the update as well, when she returns with their food. David actually eats, now, even letting go of Patrick’s hand for a few minutes while he inhales the mediocre burger and fries Alexis brought him.

“This has to be good, right?” David asks, watching Alexis daintily pick a strawberry out of her fruit cup. “Patrick’s waking up, it’s less than twelve hours since he fell and he’s waking up?”

Alexis glances at Patrick, who is lying motionless on the bed, and makes a face like she has to tell David about a stain on his favorite sweater. “He doesn’t really seem to be waking up, David.”

“He is,” David says stubbornly. Patrick opened his eyes, and he looked at him. He _saw_ him. It wasn’t just an automatic thing, or a muscle spasm. It was Patrick.

Alexis’ phone buzzes and she turns to it, and David sets his empty take-out box aside and resumes his position holding Patrick’s hand. He rubs over the spot on Patrick’s fourth finger where there is still a little indentation from his wedding ring. David doesn’t like that empty space, but the ring is safe in his wallet for now. No one bothered to explain exactly why Patrick couldn’t keep his ring on, he’s not having surgery or anything, it just seems to be a hospital rule, but it’s one that doesn’t seem worth arguing about in the grand scheme of things.

“Marcy and Clint will be in port tomorrow night,” Alexis says. 

“What?”

“Somewhere in Russia. I told them we’ll keep them posted. They can try to get a flight here the next day, if they need to, but there aren’t that many options.”

David frowns. “From Russia?” He’s so confused.

“They’re on a cruise, David. Vancouver to Tokyo, with eight port stops in Alaska and then some unpronounceable place in Russia before they get to Japan.” Alexis is reading the cruise itinerary off her phone, and she holds it out to show him. “Right now, I guess they’re just in the ocean part.”

“Okay, one, how did you find that out, and two, why didn’t you tell me you were talking to them?” David grips Patrick’s hand harder, wishing Patrick would grip it back, as he usually does whenever David starts to spiral. What are Patrick’s parents going to say when they find out what happened? Will they blame David? If Patrick hadn’t met David, he’d never have been at the store on a substandard step ladder trying to fix faulty electrical systems that David should have called an electrician to fix ages ago.

“I contacted the cruise line, and they told me how to get in touch with the Brewers. They’re on a ship, David, not on the moon.” Alexis doesn’t answer the second part of his question, probably assuming, correctly, that it doesn’t really need an answer.

“They send their love, by the way,” Alexis says. “To you both.” She rests her head on his shoulder. The scent of her hair products is oddly comforting, reminding him of waiting outside the bathroom door back at the motel, complaining about how much time Alexis was taking in the shower. “He’s going to be okay, David. Just hang in there.”

“I’m trying,” David says, bringing Patrick’s hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m really trying.”

******  
That night, David gets into bed with Patrick, propping himself up on one side and sliding his arm carefully under Patrick’s neck. It’s not really a sustainable position, and he figures that the nurse will kick him out when she comes back in an hour or so. But Alexis has gone back to their house to sleep, and there’s no one there at the moment to tell him not to do it. He just wants to get as close to Patrick as he can, to stretch out next to his body and let him know that David is there with him.

It’s dim in the room, but not anywhere near fully dark, and David doesn’t fool himself into thinking that he’s going to get any sleep. He works on taking longer, deeper breaths, and trying to quiet his mind. There’s stubble on Patrick’s skin where David’s nose is pressed against his cheek, and Patrick’s chest rises and falls soothingly under his hand. He still smells like Patrick, under the antiseptic hospital odors.

David thinks back to all the times that Patrick has reassured him, has been there for him when he was anxious, or insecure, when David couldn’t quite comprehend the reality of Patrick’s love for him. Patrick has always known just what to say, no matter the craziness of the situation or the cracks in David’s damaged heart. 

“You’ll always be a part of me, I’m part of you indefinitely,” David whisper-sings, off pitch and stuttering. “You’ll always be my baby.” He closes his eyes and thinks back to their wedding day, when Patrick sang to him, brave and sure as he stood in front of all their friends and family and pledged to be David’s forever. He’d give anything right now to go back to that day, when his biggest problems were the rain and Alexis pretending she wasn’t wearing a wedding gown.

David falls off the bed sometime during the night, bringing a bevy of staff running. It’s briefly humiliating, but then David realizes that Patrick’s eyes are open again, and he immediately forgets everything else.

A nurse is talking to Patrick and adjusting the bed while another one checks the monitors, and soon a doctor is there, too. David is relegated to the back of the room and he can’t see what’s going on. He wants to insist that they let him closer, let him talk to Patrick, but his voice seems frozen in his throat.

The doctor turns and takes pity on him, beckoning him over, and David grabs Patrick’s hand. “Hey, hi.” He feels like he’s going to cry. “Patrick. Hi.”

Patrick blinks up at him, and his mouth moves, his voice a barely audible rasp. “Hi.”

“Oh my god,” David wheezes out, tears rapidly filling his eyes. “You’re okay.”

Patrick gazes at him. “David?” He sounds like he’s got cotton balls in his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

David wipes his eyes with his free hand and looks around, hardly able to believe Patrick is saying this to him. “I was so worried,” he says, bringing Patrick’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. “Patrick, oh my god, I was so worried.”

The doctor moves him aside again and David stands against the window, arms wrapped tight around his chest as the doctor talks to Patrick, moving his limbs and checking his heartbeat. David bites his lip so hard he can taste blood.

“Well, this is definitely good news,” the doctor says, making a notation on Patrick’s chart. “There seems to be some significant muscle weakness that we need to keep an eye on, but it’s early yet. We’ll run some tests in the morning. Best thing for both of you now is to get some rest.” The doctor gives David a look that probably means he wants David to go home, but that’s not about to happen.

“I’ll make sure he goes to sleep soon,” David says instead, sliding closer so that he can take Patrick’s hand again. 

The doctor narrows his eyes and David readies himself to argue his case, but then the doctor just shrugs and pats Patrick’s foot. “All right. Good to have you back, Patrick.”

David sits down in the chair and just stares at his husband for a moment, watching his eyes flutter shut and then pop back open again. Patrick is tired, and as much as David wants to pour out his heart to him right now, that’s not what Patrick needs. 

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” David says softly. “You’re going to be okay, don’t worry.”

Patrick looks at him, his gaze searching. “I don’t feel very okay.” Patrick reaches for David, his arm falling back to the bed before David grabs his hand and holds it to his chest.

“You heard the doctor, it’s just muscle weakness, you just need some rest.” David isn’t sure that’s exactly what the doctor said, but it’s close enough for now. “Close your eyes. I’ll be right here.”

“They said I hit my head?” Patrick asks, and he moves as if to touch his head, but his arm doesn’t really go anywhere.

“You were on the stepladder in the back room, fixing the light. You fell.”

Patrick’s eyes widen. “Was I….” He seems to be searching for the word.

“Electrocuted, yeah, they think so,” David says, watching as fear flits across Patrick’s face. “But that’s just what made you fall, you didn’t even get burned or anything. It’s really the head injury that they’re worried about.”

This doesn’t seem to make Patrick feel any better. Wearing designer shoes doesn’t make putting your foot in your mouth any harder to do, David should know, he’s done it often enough. “Don’t think about that now, just get some rest, okay? We can talk more tomorrow.”

As David watches a tear slowly leaks out of the corner of Patrick’s eye, running straight down to the pillow.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” David slides his arms gently around Patrick’s shoulders and presses his fact into Patrick’s neck. 

“I’m scared,” Patrick breathes out, and David holds him tighter. He doesn’t know how to tell Patrick that the scariest part has passed – that since Patrick woke up knowing his own name and who and where he is, David can finally breathe again.

It could have been worse, so much worse, the range of devastating that could go along with _head trauma_ makes David ill just to consider it. But Patrick is here now, awake and talking to him and he’s going to be okay.

“I know it’s scary, baby, I know how you feel. But I promise you, no matter what happens, I’ll be right here. We’ll get through it, okay? Whatever happens.”

“Love you,” Patrick whispers, and David shudders, not wanting to think about how close he came to never hearing Patrick utter those words again.

“Love you too, Patrick, so much. So much.”

******  
Patrick looks unbearably anxious in the morning, when they wake him up early to take him for another round of tests. David hates to see him upset, and hates even more that he can’t go with him for whatever medical misery he’s in for. It’s so unusual for Patrick to be like this, weepy and nervous – it’s much more David’s style. It makes David’s heart ache.

Alexis turns up shortly after nine o’clock, looking unfairly perky in an off-the shoulder flowy mini-dress. He’s almost glad to know that her success in the PR world hasn’t changed her I-just-came-from-Coachella vibe. At least something is normal today.

She shoves a box at him as she sits down. “Fresh cinnamon rolls. And don’t eat them all, save one for Patrick.”

David had texted Alexis about Patrick being awake, so at least he doesn’t have to bring her up to speed on that particular development (she had responded with the appropriate – in this case - overflow of enthusiastic emojis). Alexis has also continued to handle communications with Marcy and Clint. “Did you connect with Patrick’s parents?”

Alexis nods, pulling out her phone. “They’d like to talk to him, maybe tomorrow? But they won’t book a flight yet.” A strange look passes over Alexis’s face, and she twirls a strand of hair around her fingers.

“Alexis?”

“What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Alexis shakes her head at him. “Nothing, David.”

“Alexis…”

She snorts. “Fine. But I really think the anticipation will just make it worse.”

David sighs. Patrick’s parents aren’t rushing back, but… “Mom and Dad are coming home, aren’t they?”

“I told them not to, but they were already on the plane.”

“Why did you have to tell them anything?”

“It wasn’t even me,” Alexis whines. “Or, at least, it wasn’t me first. It was Stevie.”

Oh god, David thinks, wincing as he realizes he hasn’t responded to his best friend’s texts. Or anyone else’s. “She’s going to be mad at me, isn’t she?”

Alexis gives him a puzzled look. “Why would Stevie be mad at you?”

So many reasons, David thinks, and none that he wants to discuss with Alexis. “I’m going for a walk.” David abruptly stands up, but Alexis catches his arm before he has a chance to get very far. A crowded hospital room doesn’t allow for much of a graceful exit.

“Wait, at least take this.” She hands him a leather carry-on. “I stopped by the house and brought you a change of clothes. That sweater is…” she wrinkles her nose.

David tilts his head up, blinking away what cannot possibly be more tears. “Thanks, I guess.”

“There’s a bathroom down the hall where you can shower.”

David recovers and glares at her. “Do you know what hospital soap will do to my skin?”

“I brought some products from the store, too,” Alexis replies, a smirk on her face.

David can’t think of an appropriate retort, so he just takes the bag from Alexis and winds his way out of the room. Alexis is winning at this, it’s not fair that she’s handling everything so well, especially when David feels like he can barely function. Everyone’s going to want to know what happened, why he didn’t keep them informed. They’re all going to show up at the hospital and ask questions and pester him when all he can think about is _Patrick_.

He knows their parents have their best interests at heart, and their friends will just want to help, but he’s also keenly aware that he does not have the bandwidth to manage other peoples’ anxiety right now. He’s having enough trouble with his own.

David forces himself to shave and shower, figuring that smelling slightly less sweaty has to be a good thing, and does his best to style his hair. Alexis has packed him some of his favorite clothes, a comfortable but still stylish pair of black jeans, and a fuzzy black Givenchy sweater. David tries not to look at a spot that is very likely Patrick’s blood on the cropped pants he had been wearing; he can’t quite understand how he hadn’t noticed it until now. Those pants get stuffed into the garbage can. 

He’s sitting on the ugly tiled floor of the bathroom, trying to keep himself from freaking out over the memory of cradling his husband’s bloody head in his hands, when Alexis texts him. Patrick is back in the room, and she wants to know if David will be joining them anytime soon. David pulls himself together and heads down the hall.

There’s a doctor standing next to Patrick’s bed, talking to Alexis, but David has eyes only for his husband. Patrick looks possibly even worse than yesterday, horribly pale, with bags under his eyes and a look of borderline panic on his face. David immediately crouches down next to him and puts his arms around his shoulders as best he can. He doesn’t even say anything, he’s run out of pointless platitudes, he just presses his face against Patrick’s and holds him. 

After a long moment he can feel Patrick relax, and he pulls back slightly, enough to see that something approaching a smile is tugging at Patrick’s lips.

“That was a very dramatic good morning,” Patrick says, slow but clear.

David feigns a confidence he isn’t feeling right now. “I’m a very dramatic person.”

“That you are,” Patrick replies.

David takes a big breath in and lets it out, sitting down in the chair next to the bed but keeping his hands on Patrick. The doctor and Alexis have left, either to give him and Patrick some space or go make out in the supply room like Grey’s Anatomy wannabes, David doesn’t really care which.

“So, how was your morning?” he asks.

“Better than falling off a ladder.”

David huffs. “That’s a pretty low bar.” He weaves his fingers between Patrick’s. “I guess I should have talked to the doctor about…” he waves his hand.

“He didn’t say much,” Patrick says. “They’re keeping me here at least another day.”

“How do you feel?” David doesn’t say “can you move your arms and legs?” because that seems somehow too frightening to ask, but it’s what he means, and Patrick knows it.

Patrick shrugs, and David can see how he’s trying to keep the nervousness off his face. “The ‘muscle weakness’ is still there. I’ll probably need physical therapy.” He reaches up to David, his arm shaky. His fingers brush David’s cheek, and then his arm drops back down. “I won’t be stocking shelves anytime soon.”

“That’s hardly important,” David practically snaps, but Patrick doesn’t seem appeased.

“I don’t know, I think not being able to move is pretty bad.”

“Patrick, do you not… do you not understand what could have happened?”

Patrick shifts, looking miserable, and David feels all the anger go out of him. He glances around the room, and then awkwardly climbs into the bed. Patrick does his best to ignore him but David persists, shuffling around until he has an arm under Patrick’s neck, his other holding him around his waist. It’s like cuddling in their bed at home, except for the bandage on Patrick’s head, the needle in his hand, the horrible hospital smells, and a thousand other absolutely terrible things. But it’s them, pressed up close to each other, and so it’s still good.

“I thought we might never be here again,” David says softly into the space between them, as Patrick shyly turns to meet his eyes. “You were electrocuted, Patrick. When I saw you on the floor, shaking and bleeding… and then you didn’t wake up…” He hears his voice cracking, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “You didn’t wake up when I talked to you.” He blinks, hard, but the tears slide out anyway. “They didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.”

Patrick’s eyes are wide, and he presses forward, kissing David’s nose, and then finding his lips. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Just don’t do it again,” David croaks out, and Patrick nuzzles against his cheek. 

“I won’t. I promise.”

They both know it’s not really a promise that Patrick can make, but it will have to do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter - please feel free to leave a comment of any length, I love hearing from you. <3


	3. Chapter 3

When Alexis returns, she tries to make David get out of Patrick’s bed, but David won’t do it. It feels far too good to be sitting pressed up against Patrick, his body warm and alive against his side. They compromise by raising the head of the bed until they are mostly sitting up, Patrick leaning against David’s shoulder as David hand feeds him tiny bites of cinnamon roll.

Things are going well enough until a nurse comes in to look at Patrick’s head wound, and it turns out that Alexis is the only one besides the nurse who can face the thought of stitches in Patrick’s scalp without getting dizzy.

“It’s really not that bad, Patrick,” Alexis says lightly, shoving her compact mirror back in her bag after David screeches at her to put it away. “When your hair grows back, the scar will be completely hidden.”

“My hair?” Patrick asks. “What did they do to my hair?”

Alexis purses her lips at him. “I suppose you could keep that part short, David loves that 90’s asymmetric style-”

“There will be none of that,” David interrupts, propping a hip on Patrick’s bed and running his fingers gently through the untouched hair on the top of Patrick’s head. “It’s just a little trimmed patch above your ear. It’ll grow back in no time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they shaved my head? It must look ridiculous.” Patrick looks at David, betrayed, and it’s all David can do not to laugh. For once it isn’t David being vain.

“It’s hardly your whole head. Your boy next door good looks are still intact.” David kisses Patrick’s frowning lips, which seems to satisfy him for the moment.

“Eww, David.”

“Shut it, Alexis. I’ll kiss my handsome husband whenever I like.”

Alexis tilts her head at them, and then leans down and smacks a quick kiss on Patrick’s cheek, making him blush. “He is pretty cute, even with a shaved head.” She stands up, grinning at them and tossing her own luscious waves – adding insult to injury, David thinks. If someone shaved Alexis’ head without her permission there’d be hell to pay. “I’m going to go find us some lunch. Try to keep it PG while I’m gone.”

****  
Patrick’s mood sours as the afternoon wears on. When the physical therapist comes in to evaluate him, Patrick glares at David until David leaves the room. David splits the next hour between pacing the hallway and answering texts from his parents, who have already flown halfway home from Fiji and are in the airport in L.A., waiting for their flight to Toronto. He uses every trick he can think of to convince them not to come, including telling Moira that Schitt’s Creek has implemented a ban on wigs, but they board the flight anyway. David follows this up with a quick text exchange with Jocelyn, who promises to pick his parents up at the airport and keep them away from the hospital for as long as possible.

When David is finally allowed back into the room, Patrick is having his dinner. As David watches, Patrick fumbles with a fork, unable to get even one piece of the overcooked pasta from the bowl to his mouth. The orderly makes a noise of disapproval, taking the fork out of Patrick’s hand and trying to feed him, at which point Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head into the pillow.

“All right, that’s enough,” David says. “You, leave the food and clear out.”

“Patrick needs to eat-”

“And you need to go somewhere you’re wanted. Shoo.” David waves his hand at the orderly until he leaves, practically tsk-tsking as he goes.

David takes a deep breath and rests one hip against the bed, giving Patrick time to regain his composure. 

“I don’t need to be fed like a child,” Patrick finally mumbles into the pillow.

“I know,” David says.

“It’s humiliating.”

“I’m sorry.”

David scoots a little closer to Patrick and Patrick slides his head from the pillow to David’s thigh. “I want to go home,” Patrick says, his voice tight.

“Tomorrow, right?”

“They’re not sure.” There’s a pause, and when Patrick continues, he’s clearly hating every word. “They said I have to be able to transfer from the bed to a chair, and do better with meals.”

“Why?”

Patrick rolls his head, his eyes blinking up at David. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? So I can take care of myself,” Patrick says angrily.

“But I can take care of you,” David says, still not seeing the problem.

“You can’t,” Patrick replies. “You have the store, and you’ll have to work even longer hours since I won’t be able to help.”

“I’ll take time off. Patrick, come on, you really think I’m going to leave you at home alone when you’re like this?”

Unfortunately this doesn’t have the desired effect, apparently just emphasizing how helpless Patrick is right now.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re going to send me to a rehab facility.”

It’s starting to sink in that David has missed quite a lot of information, and while a few days of rehab doesn’t sound like the worst possible thing, it’s clear that Patrick is truly shaken.

“Let me talk to them. They can’t force you – you’re not in jail. I’ll just take you home.”

“David, you don’t want to be stuck with me like this,” Patrick says bitterly. “I can barely wipe my ass. There’s no fucking choice, I have to go.”

“Patrick,” David says, rapidly realizing that things are going downhill faster than he can catch up. If nothing else, Patrick’s use of profanity gives away how distraught he is. “You aren’t going anywhere you don’t want to go, do you understand me? I won’t let that happen.”

Patrick shakes his head and doesn’t answer. David slides down until his face is up against Patrick’s, or at least the half of his face that isn’t smushed into the pillow, and whispers softly to him. 

“I know this is upsetting, more than upsetting, and you’re scared. But you’re not alone in this. You’re not alone in anything anymore, remember?” He puts his arm around Patrick and pulls him close. “Let me get all the information and see what our options are, okay?”

Patrick slides closer and buries his face in David’s neck, sniffling hard. “Okay.”

*****  
Later, after David has coaxed Patrick into eating at least a few bites of the now cold and therefore even less appetizing pasta, Patrick dozes off while an old episode of a cooking show plays on his laptop. David goes out into the hallway and starts making calls.

He starts with Alexis, because next to his mother, she is the queen of making the impossible become possible – and while Moira seems to stumble into these situations by accident, Alexis makes things happen on her terms. It helps that Alexis has been so chummy with Patrick’s doctor, because twenty minutes later David’s on the phone with the man himself. They believe Patrick’s problems are caused by a head injury, not the electric shock. But given his promising test results, there’s no medical reason Patrick can’t go home. He’ll need some help at first – either from a family member or a home health care aide – but he can do PT on an outpatient basis if he doesn’t want to go to a residential rehab center, especially if there is someone (i.e., David) able to monitor Patrick’s condition.

David’s about to go back to Patrick’s room with the good news when he gets a text from his dad. _Call me_

It’s progress from a guy who used to send emails in all caps. At least this message is short. He hopes it’s not an emergency – he’s already got his hands full with his Patrick-emergency. His heart can only handle one at a time.

“Son, you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it covered,” his dad says when the line connects.

“Got what covered?”

“The store. Alexis told me about your dilemma, and you don’t need to worry about it. Stevie’s coming in tomorrow, and between the two of us and Jocelyn after school, you won’t have to lift a finger.”

David can’t help the wave of relief he feels, even as he protests. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but last I checked you and Stevie had full time jobs of your own.”

“I already took the month off to go to Fiji, so no one’s expecting me back for at least three more weeks. Stevie’s due some vacation time too. Plus we just promoted two new regional managers – it’ll be good for them to have some space to do their thing without us hanging over their shoulders.”

“You can’t spend your vacation time working at the Apothecary – and you can’t make Stevie do it either.”

“Fine, I’ll give her extra vacation time, as much as she wants. She never takes any time off anyway, no matter how much she saves up. This will be fun for her – she doesn’t say it, but I know she misses you guys.”

It’s really too good to be true. “Dad, are you sure? Because Patrick and I can make it work, we’ll be okay on our own.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do this on your own, David.”

It’s oddly reminiscent of what David just said to Patrick a little while ago. They’re not alone in this, neither of them.

“All right, but I’m still supervising operations. Don’t go making any changes or ordering anything different without asking me. We have to stay on brand.”

“David, I would never.”

David lets out an embarrassing half-laugh/half-cry and presses his hand over his eyes. “Dad, I have to get back to Patrick.”

“Okay, son. I love you. And tell Patrick we love him too.”

David hangs up and goes into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. His dad has gifted them the perfect solution to this problem, even if he screws up and decorates the place with poison oak in ugly vases. He can’t wait to tell Patrick.

Unfortunately, Patrick is fast asleep when David gets back to his room. The nurse tells David that they gave Patrick a sedative to help him rest, and that he probably won’t wake up until morning. Glancing at his watch, he sees that it’s nearly eleven o’clock. No wonder he feels like he’s about to pass out. Except for a few hours of sleep crammed in the hospital bed with Patrick last night, David has been awake since the previous morning.

“Do you have someone who can take you home for the night?” the nurse asks. “If Patrick wakes up I’ll help him call you. You need to take care of yourself, so you can take care of him.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you that already,” Alexis trills at him.

David turns, and Alexis is there, smiling affectionately. “Come on, David, give your little button a kiss and let me take you home. I promise I’ll bring you back first thing.”

David really doesn’t want to leave, but he can barely keep his eyes open, and the thought of crawling into his own bed is irresistible. He sends Patrick a text, letting him know he’ll be back early.

“You promise you’ll have him call me if he wakes up?” David asks the nurse. “Even if it’s the middle of the night?”

“I will.” The nurse walks with them out of the room. “He’s going to be fine, your husband. He’s mostly just scared, but he’s going to be okay.”

“I thought medical professionals aren’t supposed to make promises like that,” David says, suddenly suspicious.

“I can tell he’s going to be okay, because he’s got you and your family on his side.”

Alexis turns and steps closer to the nurse, her eyes narrowing. “Wait, do we know you?”

The nurse laughs. “I’m Twyla’s second cousin, Marti. I came to singles week at Schitt’s Creek a few years ago.”

“Ugh, do you still promise to take care of Patrick?”

Marti laughs. “I do. Now go home already, just looking at you is making me tired.”

*****  
Sleeping in his own bed isn’t quite as wonderful as David had hoped it would be; Patrick’s absence is like a physical pain. But David does feel more like himself in the morning.

As promised, Marti calls him around six when Patrick wakes up, and puts Patrick on the phone. He is still a little drowsy, so David just makes sure everything is more or less okay and asks him what kind of scone he wants for breakfast.

“Blueberry,” Patrick says, surprising no one.

They get to the hospital around eight, Alexis giving Patrick a quick kiss on the cheek and then skipping off on what she says is an important work-related errand, but what David thinks is probably a coffee date with Patrick’s doctor.

“He’s named Dr. Lee,” David says. “Do we think he’s related to someone in Schitt’s Creek too?”

“Ronnie’s last name is Lee,” Patrick says. “But there’s not exactly a family resemblance.”

Dr. Lee is tall, built, and most likely Korean. He reminds David of a younger, even more handsome Daniel Dae Kim. “No way to know, really. And I’m not about to ask him.”

Patrick nods in agreement. “I can’t believe that nurse is Twyla’s cousin. Marti seems so normal.”

“Very funny.”

“So, what was the good news?” Patrick looks cautiously optimistic, but still so nervous that David is compelled to sit down on the bed and pull him into his arms before he goes on.

“If you don’t want to go to that rehab place, you’re not going. You don’t need to be there to do your PT. You can come home, with me, and I will stay home and wait on you hand and foot until you get better.”

“David, you can’t leave the store-”

“My dad and Stevie are going to work the store. Don’t argue with me, that part wasn’t even my doing, and it’s already decided. Either you let me stay home with you, or I’ll wander the streets lonely and pining, but I’m not needed at the Apothecary.”

Patrick seems to be holding his breath, then asks, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Patrick’s eyes are shining, and he leans into David, sighing deeply. “David… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. So far my mother hasn’t announced whether she’s part of this plan too, but I wouldn’t put it past her. We might wind up with a selection of all-natural handmade wigs for sale.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick murmurs into David’s sweater.

“No, me neither.”

They pull apart when David’s stomach grumbles, and he unpacks the food he brought in.

“This doesn’t look like it came from the café,” Patrick says, as David deposits a blueberry scone iced with lemon and sparkling sugar on a paper plate.

“Nope. We stopped at that place in Elm Falls, the one we looked at for wedding cakes? They have a new baker with a real flair for pastries. I’m thinking we should give them a call soon, see what it would take to set up a weekly delivery.”

David takes out his own breakfast – French toast stuffed with ricotta and strawberries, and cuts off a chunk, holding it out for Patrick to bite.

“Mmm, that’s good too.”

“Right?”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, David feeding Patrick bites of his French toast and Patrick breaking off pieces of his scone and slowly putting them into his mouth.

“Your arms seem steadier today -” David starts, and Patrick interrupts him.

“Don’t say it, I thought it too, but I don’t want to jinx anything.”

David grins at Patrick, and Patrick grins back, a little shy. “Okay, I won’t say anything.” He tries not to watch as Patrick picks up his iced coffee and sips from the straw, placing the plastic cup back down on the bed tray carefully but without any mishap.

“You’ll be stocking shelves in no time,” David says, and Patrick groans. 

“Shut up, please.”

Patrick’s mood improves even more when David reveals what else he brought him.

“I have never been happier to see a pair of sweats,” Patrick says, as he reluctantly lets David help him get dressed. 

“I figured that doing PT in a hospital gown probably didn’t improve the experience,” David says. “Wait, there’s one more thing.” He pulls out Patrick’s Café Tropicale baseball cap, which easily covers the shaved spot and the bandage on Patrick’s head. Patrick’s smile lights up the room.

“Babe, you are really the best.”

David blushes as Patrick pulls him in for a kiss. “I can definitely get you better hats, this is just temporary.”

“What, you mean you’re not a fan?”

David takes in his husband, smiling and laughing and thrilled to be wearing a worn green baseball cap while sitting in a hospital bed. “I am, in fact, your very biggest fan,” he says, sappy and proud. He kisses Patrick a few more times, for good measure, but all too soon a nurse comes in and they have to stop.

Even with his spirits lifted, Patrick still kicks David out during his physical therapy session. David thinks it’s kind of silly, since it’s likely that the therapist might be imparting information that would be useful for them both to know, and he’d rather hear anything that’s going to upset Patrick so he can try to help deal with it before he spirals. But he gets that Patrick is trying to hold on to some shred of privacy. This whole situation is hell for David in terms of secondhand embarrassment, and he knows it’s a hundred times worse for Patrick.

When Patrick’s finally done with PT, David comes back into the room to find Patrick curled up on his side, his eyes closed. David pulls his chair close to the bed and sets a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Tired.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Patrick just shakes his head, not opening his eyes.

David leans down and presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, then pulls out a magazine from his bag and starts flipping through it. He’s bored, though, and now that’s he’s actually gotten some decent sleep, full of restless energy. If he stays here, he’s just going to annoy Patrick with his fidgeting.

“Okay if I go for a walk?” he asks, whispering. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Do what you want,” Patrick mutters.

It stings. David tells himself that it’s understandable, Patrick is going through a rough time, it’s no surprise that he’s grumpy. But Patrick is usually so unflappable. The contrast is striking. David is supposed to be the dramatic one, while Patrick remains calm, the sober port in David’s passionate storm. An exaggeration, maybe, but on the nose more often than not. 

Now Patrick needs him to step up and be calm and capable for both of them. David needs to set aside his own anxieties and be there for his husband, no matter how uncomfortable it might feel. He’s always said that he would do anything for Patrick, but it’s a lot easier to say when his husband is cheerful and healthy and really doesn’t need much except David’s fond attention. David is determined not to let Patrick down now, but based on his track record, he can’t help but think that the odds aren’t really in his favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story - comments of any length are very much appreciated!
> 
> Stay home and stay safe <3


	4. Chapter 4

While Patrick sleep-sulks, David calls to check in on his dad. It is his first time working at Rose Apothecary, after all, and that’s not an inconsequential matter. Luckily Stevie is there, and Jocelyn too. On the whole, from what he can tell over the phone, Johnny seems to be reacting well to being trained in the correct way of doing business in David’s shop. Jocelyn, on the other hand, has a history of resisting training, but she’s a surprisingly effective salesperson and so it mostly balances out.

David spends some time talking his father through some of the financial aspects of the operation. He’d like to put Patrick on the phone with him, but they decide that it can wait a few more days. They also identify a few tasks that David can and should continue to do, mostly involving calls and visits to vendors.

“Your mother is happy to come keep Patrick company when you need to be out of the house,” his father offers, and David bites his lip. He knew this was coming, and it’s really not as bad as he’s making it out to be in his head. But he’s just worried that Moira, who can be a lot on a good day, is not going to do much for Patrick’s mood right now.

“Let’s play it by ear,” he responds. There’s no reason that Patrick needs a babysitter 24/7, at least not if he keeps improving at the rate David has witnessed. Of course, he thinks again, if Patrick would clue him in, he’d have a better idea of what to expect.

When he heads back to Patrick’s hospital room he’s surprised to see Alexis waiting outside his door.

“David,” she says, her trademark whine particularly grating right now, “where have you been?”

“Talking to dad on the phone, why?”

“Patrick is in there trying to get into a wheelchair by himself, and he won’t let me help. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself.”

David brushes past Alexis and finds Patrick sitting on the bed, slumped over with his head in his hands. 

“What, you want to see the show too?” Patrick mutters, and David takes in the wheelchair set at an odd angle to the bed, one of Patrick’s bare feet draped over the arm rest.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to do it,” David says, gently helping Patrick untangle his foot. 

“I was trying to get it closer.”

David sits next to Patrick on the bed, looping an arm around his shoulders and straightening him up. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“I just wanted to do it by myself.”

“Is this how the therapist taught you to get into the chair?” 

No answer.

“Maybe,” David says, choosing his words carefully, “you could explain to me how it’s supposed to work, and I can help you practice.”

Patrick sighs. “I’m supposed to let someone else transfer me for now. I don’t have enough muscle control, and my balance is shit. But I googled it and it didn’t seem that hard.”

David thinks about this for a few moments, about how important it is for Patrick to feel like he has some control over his own body, and this whole situation. But Patrick clearly won’t be any happier if he falls and breaks something, or god forbid, hits his head again.

“I know this is hard for you.” David pauses, hoping Patrick will take this the right way. “Having to rely on other people for everything, I know it’s really not how you operate. And… I want to support you, always, I want to give you what you want, but I also really couldn’t handle it if you got hurt again.” His last few words tumble out in a rush.

Patrick closes his eyes, not answering. He’s embarrassed, once more, and David’s not sure what to do.

“Patrick, I can’t help it if you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t lose you.”

“I wasn’t trying to get hurt,” Patrick says softly, finally looking up at David. “I just hate being so stuck.”

“I know, baby, I know.” David wraps his arms around Patrick and hugs him tight, breathing in the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of their laundry detergent. At least Patrick is wearing his own clothes now. Seeing him in that hospital gown was a constant and unnecessary reminder that something was very wrong.

Patrick sighs. “I know this sucks for you too. That’s why I need to figure this stuff out, so you don’t have to do it.”

David shifts them so he can see Patrick’s face. “Do you really think helping you is a hardship for me? I carried you up a mountain once, Patrick, I can do it again.”

A smile creeps onto Patrick’s face. “It was hardly a mountain. And we were already almost at the top.”

David smiles back at him, but he’s not quite ready to let the subject go. He’s well aware that his own anxieties are making everything more complicated, and he owes it to both of them to try to do something about it.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

Patrick’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “Sure, what is it?”

“Would it be okay if we talked to your PT guy together, so he can show me how to help you do this transfer thing? I don’t like being clueless any better than you do, and if I don’t find some way to be useful here my fingernails are going to be beyond saving.”

Patrick takes David’s hand in his own, and slightly clumsily brings it to his lips. “Of course. Anything to preserve your manicure.”

David squeezes his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Patrick’s. It might be just a small victory, a tiny step towards handling this mess together, but it’s progress nonetheless.

They convince Alexis to go out and get them food for lunch, and arrange to meet with the physical therapist after that. Patrick had been scheduled to be released today, but no one has come by with the paperwork yet, so it’s all still a little up in the air.

When the therapist arrives, they have just finished their pizza, and Alexis clears the boxes as she leaves the room. Patrick’s embarrassed enough with David there, he doesn’t need an additional audience member.

It’s incredibly awkward at first, as David realizes that Patrick can’t reliably move his legs much at all, but once they get the hang of it it’s not a big deal. The transfer starts with Patrick sitting up in bed and swinging his legs over the side, which he can do with just a little assistance. Then David supports Patrick, pulls him off the bed and into a standing position, pivots him around, and sits him down in the chair. It’s imperative that the chair be locked in place for this maneuver, otherwise it can roll away as Patrick tries to sit down; after one near disaster, David thinks they probably won’t forget again.

Finally Dr. Lee comes by for a few parting words, the appropriate forms are signed, and discharge papers are handed out. An orderly pushes Patrick in their new loaner wheelchair out to the parking lot, while David and Alexis trail along behind him, carrying the bags that have accumulated over the past few days.

It’s Tuesday afternoon, not even two full days since Patrick fell off the ladder, but it feels like that was a lifetime ago.

When they get to the car Alexis opens the passenger door but doesn’t get in. “I assume you two would like some space, and I’m pretty sure I can get a ride back from Brandon. Possibly after a nice romantic dinner.” She gives them each a quick kiss, her hand lingering on David’s arm, and then swirls away.

“Brandon?” David asks, looking at Patrick.

“Dr. Lee.”

“Oooh, so they’re on a first name basis now. Good to know.” David makes sure that the car door is open as wide as it can go, and holds out his arms to Patrick. “Upsy-daisy.”

Patrick flushes, and laughs despite himself. “That is not going to be a thing.”

“No?” David gets his arms around Patrick and carefully hefts him up, then pivots, just as they practiced. Patrick ducks his head, and David deposits him into the car.

“I wouldn’t think you’d like that phrase anyway. It’s awfully similar to your mother’s term for your, um…”

“Well, now, if I remember correctly, you told me I was making more of a thing about that than it needed to be.” David matter of factly picks up Patrick’s legs and slides them into place, then bats Patrick’s hands away so he can fasten Patrick’s seat belt.

“I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something here,” Patrick says, squirming as David pets him, tugging his sweatshirt down and placing a sugary-sweet kiss on his forehead, before folding up the wheelchair and stowing it in the trunk.

“There couldn’t possibly be anything more embarrassing than my _oopsy-daisy,_ ” David says. He’s still convinced that Patrick is entirely responsible for their relationship’s survival following that incident. Anyone else would have run screaming if they discovered that their thirty-something fiancé had wet the bed.

David gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car, turning to Patrick before he puts it in gear. “About that. You didn’t hold it against me, did you?”

“David, of course not-”

“In fact you made it okay. You did, even though I was humiliated. We survived. I know it's not the same, but - let me help you with this.”

Patrick has his hands on his uncooperative thighs, but then he lets out a long breath and reaches over to grab David’s hand. It’s the most positive touch he’s initiated between them since his accident, and David cheers internally. “All right.” Patrick nods. “We can do this.”

David beams. “We can. Which reminds me…” David digs around in his pocket, dragging his wallet out. He takes Patrick’s left hand and slides his wedding ring on, keeping hold of his hand and rubbing his thumb against the ring. He wants to say something about having promised to love and support his husband for the rest of their lives, and how this is just a little bump in the road, but his throat gets uncomfortably tight and all he can do is stare at his husband with hearts in his eyes.

“Love you,” David finally stutters out, and Patrick blinks hard and nods. 

“Love you too.”

Patrick’s confidence wanes when they turn into their driveway and see a rental car and Roland’s truck already there. It looks like a surprise welcome home party, which is the opposite of what either of them want right now.

“David…”

David’s already frantically texting his dad to tell him to clear out, but it’s too late. The elder Roses and Schitts pour out of the back door, swarming the car.

David presses the door lock as Moira raps on his window. “Patrick, I am so, so, sorry,” David says.

“It’s not your fault.” Patrick moves his head away from the window as Moira knocks harder. “Do you think we can just stay in here?”

Roland is yelling at them to hold on while he gets a crowbar, and David shakes his head. “I think that would risk damage to the car that insurance won’t cover. Just sit tight-” David winces, because Patrick really can’t do anything else, “and let me handle it.”

David gets out of the car and closes the door quickly behind him, locking the car immediately. Everyone is talking at once, and David puts two fingers in his mouth and produces a shrill whistle.

“Daaaviiid, I didn’t know you could do that,” Moira drawls. “That’s quite a hidden talent you have there.”

“You learn something new every day,” David replies. “Come on, into the house.”

“Buddy, I think you forgot something in the car,” Roland says, chuckling at his own joke. “You sure you want to leave him there?”

David ignores him and ushers the group inside. “Everyone? I need your attention. Patrick and I are both exhausted, and while we appreciate your concern, we really aren’t prepared for visitors right now.”

“I brought you a casserole,” Jocelyn says. “And some groceries.”

“She also cleaned out your refrigerator,” Roland adds. “Whew, some of that stuff was almost unrecognizable. There were blue spots on your cheese!”

David briefly mourns the loss of what was rather excellent goat gorgonzola, and tries to remain calm. “Look, I know you all want to say hello to Patrick, but you have to promise to leave soon, mkay?”

“Don’t worry, son,” his father says. “We won’t overstay our welcome. We know better than that.”

David allows himself to enjoy the humor in this statement and reminds them all to stay put in the living room until he returns with Patrick.

Out in the car, Patrick startles when David unlocks the doors.

“Sorry,” David says, and Patrick rubs his face with his hands.

“Are they still there?”

“Afraid so. But Jocelyn cooked for us.” They’ve both become rather fond of Jocelyn’s cooking, even if it tends to feature recipes from the Pillsbury crescent dough website.

“Is it the taco bake?”

“Quite possibly.” David fights with the wheelchair for a moment, finally getting it open, then holds out his arms again for Patrick.

“Upsy-daisy,” Patrick says under his breath as David picks him up, amusement coloring his tone.

“Indeed.”

******

Somewhat surprisingly, Johnny picks up on David’s not so subtle cues and gets everyone out of the house before David has to pull a fire alarm. It’s none too soon, either – Patrick is still in the wheelchair, too self-conscious to let David tug him out of it in front of everyone – and he looks thoroughly drained.

“So…” David says, crouching down next to Patrick. “Couch, or bed?”

It’s only six o’clock but the day feels like it has gone on forever.

“Bed,” Patrick says. 

“We can have sundaes and watch a movie,” David suggests, aiming for cheery. But by the time he helps Patrick in the bathroom, Patrick is so miserable that no rom-com yet made could shake him out of it.

“I just want to sleep,” Patrick says, as David pulls their duvet up over him. “I’m not hungry.”

“I could heat up some of the casserole?” David asks, but Patrick just tucks his face into his pillow and closes his eyes.

“At least you’re home,” David says, leaning down to give Patrick a kiss right on his frowny face. “I missed you in our bed.”

Patrick opens his eyes, somehow apologetic and fond all at once. “Love you, David.”

David heats up some dinner for himself – it is the taco bake, and it’s delicious – and then pokes around to see what their friends and family have left them. His gourmet cheese and charcuterie drawer has been emptied and refilled with sliced ham and processed orange cheese, but other than that, no dramatic gustatorial mishaps are apparent. There’s a fresh loaf of bread on the counter from Jocelyn’s bread machine, a bag of muffins from the café, and several bottles of wine from his parents.

He settles on the couch with a glass of the red – it’s good, and his parents didn’t even steal it from the store – and contemplates the volume of missed texts and unanswered emails on his phone. He leaves the work-related ones for another day, but answers a few of the others.

He’s gone back and forth with Stevie a few times, apologizing profusely for not keeping her updated and thanking her for coming to town to help out, when there’s a knock on the back door. It’s Stevie, and before David can utter yet another apology, she wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You don’t have to invite me in,” Stevie says. “Your dad told me about the crowd this afternoon. But I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

David hasn’t seen his friend in months, and now he can’t understand how he could have let so much time go by. “Maybe just sit for a minute?”

Stevie agrees and takes a seat at their little breakfast table. David checks on Patrick, who is still sleeping deeply, and then pours Stevie some of the red and leans back against the counter.

“How are you doing?” Stevie asks, and it’s then that David realizes she has essentially asked him this twice, without asking after Patrick.

“Well, considering my husband almost died, and is still recovering, I’d say I’m relatively good, thanks.”

Stevie shakes her head. “Alexis told me you guys were really freaked out. Did you know she’s dating his doctor? That guy apparently doesn’t really understand patient confidentiality.”

David sighs. “I know about her and the doctor. And this probably means both of you know more about Patrick’s condition than I do.”

“Patrick won’t talk to you about it?”

“It’s not that, it’s just… it’s hit him hard, how he’s not himself yet, and no one can really tell him what’s going to happen. They talk about PT and strengthening his muscles, but they can’t tell him if he’s ever going to walk again.”

David hears the words come out of his mouth, and sits there in shock, not believing that he actually said it. Stevie seems to understand, coming over and putting a hand on his arm.

“David, I don’t want to downplay how scared you guys are, but is that a realistic fear?”

“I don’t know,” David moans, “I really don’t know, maybe I’m just catastrophizing based on how uncharacteristically freaked out Patrick is and too many hours of unfortunate googling. But you’re right, he won’t talk to me about it.”

“Have you asked him, straight up? Or asked Brandon?”

“How are you on a first name basis with Patrick’s doctor?”

“Alexis and I talked, I told you.”

David sighs. “I don’t know how to talk to Patrick about it without upsetting him. He’s so tired, just from trying to move around or sit up to eat lunch, and he’s really embarrassed about the whole thing.”

“I’m not sure anything could be more embarrassing than your-”

“I know, right? That’s what I told him, too. But he’s still upset.”

“Go figure,” Stevie says, joking, and David laughs bitterly. 

“I just want to help him. Stevie, he’s helped me so much, and put up with my – everything – I have to be able to help him now.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“If you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears.”

Stevie considers this. “Have you asked him what he needs? You know, check in a lot, make sure he has the opportunity to express his feelings?”

David’s instinct is to say of course, but he can’t really think of an example, other than when he asked Patrick what he wanted to do about rehab. “I guess I’ve gotten used to knowing what he wants, most of the time, without having to check in.”

Stevie rolls her eyes at him. “I don’t need to know about your sex life, David.”

“Ha ha ha, that’s not what I was talking about.” Although it applies there as well. Maybe a little bit of continuous consent would improve communication in this situation, too.

Stevie checks the time on her phone and heads out, noting with a smirk that she has to be at work early the next day. David can’t resist texting her a reminder about the new basil and aloe moisturizer that is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and to use the new larger labels. She responds a few minutes later by asking him why he hasn’t gotten into bed with his husband yet, and David has to admit that she has a good point.

He showers and pulls on clean briefs and loose sleep pants, then crawls into bed behind Patrick, spooning him close. Patrick stirs, finding his hand and weaving their fingers together.

“David?”

“Yeah?” 

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

David braces himself, hoping that he hasn’t screwed up again. “Sure… what’s up?”

“I know I kind of slept through dinner, but… is there any taco bake left?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally back at home, things get a little rocky...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the chapter count went up by one... I decided the story needed an epilogue :)

The next week is tough. Patrick has PT every weekday morning at the hospital in Elmdale, and while they’re getting better at making the transfer from bed to chair to car to chair to car and back home again, it’s still awkward and tiring. Worse, Patrick doesn’t seem to be getting any better, at least not where his ability to support himself on his legs is concerned. He still goes practically limp when David hauls him up, and David doesn’t know how to raise the subject, even though it’s right there in his arms.

By the time they’re into their second week since Patrick came home, David starts spending a few hours a day out of the house. He has a lot of vendor visits to make, since he had postponed everything that was on the calendar after Patrick’s accident. Patrick seems generally annoyed at him, but David can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want David to leave, or he wishes he wouldn’t come back.

Nothing seems to make Patrick happy. David came home one evening to find him messing around with his guitar, and asked if he would play something for him, but Patrick just snapped at him and refused. When David brought home cheese samples from a new vendor, Patrick complained that if they ate that instead of dinner, they were wasting the groceries he had ordered. If David offers to get him a drink, Patrick accuses David of not trusting him to do it himself; if David doesn’t offer, Patrick pouts.

Late Wednesday afternoon David lets himself into the house quietly. Patrick has gotten in the habit of taking long naps after his morning physical therapy sessions, and David doesn’t want to disturb him. But Patrick is wide awake, glaring at David from the couch the minute he walks in.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Patrick says. “It’s my house too, you know. You could have asked me.”

David takes in a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “Asked you about what?”

“Very funny. I hardly needed you to advertise my problems to the whole town. You know how I feel about keeping stuff private, and you did it anyway.”

“Patrick, seriously, what are you talking about?” David can feel Patrick’s anger like a wave, pushing at his chest and making it hard to breathe. 

“Our fucking bathroom.”

David goes into the house’s only full bath, and sure, it’s a bit of a mess. But then he pushes aside the shower curtain and sees a handrail has been added to the back wall, three feet of diagonal reminder that Patrick can’t hold himself up. When he turns back towards the door he sees that there’s another handle next to the toilet. They are definitely eyesores in the midst of their black and white vintage subway tile, but he doesn’t think the aesthetics are what Patrick is upset about.

He goes back to the living room, where Patrick proceeds to yell at him some more. David zones out briefly, unable to come up with any response in the face of Patrick’s verbal assault, until his brain manages to catch on one accusation.

“Patrick, I didn’t do this. I had no idea. No one asked me either.”

“You told Jocelyn to come over to babysit, and then you had Roland come instead.”

David is shaking his head repeatedly. “No, I didn’t. I mean yes, Jocelyn said she would stop by, but I didn’t tell Roland to come.”

“That’s what Roland said.”

“You’re going to take Roland’s word over mine? You think I’m lying to you?”

“He said he texted you. That’s proof. You can’t deny it.”

David fumbles for his phone and shoves it at Patrick. “My phone’s dead. Has been all afternoon.”

Patrick tries in vain to turn it on, and then wheels himself over to the side table and plugs it in. “You said you would support me, and then you do this,” Patrick says bitterly, watching the phone as it slowly comes to life.

It’s incredibly unfair, and David can’t help but point this out. “Okay, one, I didn’t tell Roland to install anything, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of you actually trusting me here.” His voice is rising, and he can’t stop himself. “And two, what if I had asked him to install some safety handrails? It’s a good idea – you’re totally unstable in there, and getting you in and out of the tub is a disaster waiting to happen. I’m glad Roland thought of it – I wish I had thought of it myself!”

“Are you serious?” Patrick asks, his voice dropping low and, if possible, even more furious. “After everything I’ve told you, you want to bolt a reminder to the wall of how inadequate I am – how can you say that?”

“Oh, that’s rich – you haven’t told me anything, how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”

“You don’t even try. You don’t give a shit about what I’m going through. You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.”

David feels like Patrick has gut punched him, and all the air flies out of the room. He stumbles back, shoving open the door and winding up against the car, hunched over and panting furiously. When he can breathe again, he gets in and drives away.

He winds up at the Wobbly Elm, which is a terrible place to try to drown his sorrows. He’s hardly anonymous here, and he instantly spots several people from the town. Before he can sneak out, someone sits down next to him at the bar. He leans his head down on the sticky wood, wishing he could sink into it and disappear.

“You don’t look too good, David Rose,” Ronnie says. At least it’s her and not Bob or Twyla or someone that might try to cheer him up.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Ronnie.” He can hear how rough his own voice is, whether from crying or yelling, he’s not sure.

“Word is your boy’s having a tough time.”

David huffs out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

David picks up his head and stares at her. “None of your business.”

She shrugs. “Fine. But you two have gone from the town’s sappiest couple to a pair of misery twins, and I don’t give you good odds unless something changes.”

“That’s dark, even for you.”

“No point in sugar-coating it.” Ronnie gets up from the bar and pats David on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “You let me know if you want to talk. You wouldn’t believe the shit Karen and I got up to when we were younger. It’s a miracle the woman still speaks to me.”

“Ronnie,” David says despite himself, as she starts to walk away. “I think I’m losing him.”

She turns around and gives him a long look. “Well, if you’ve noticed, he probably has too. Maybe you better talk with him about it, before things get worse.”

David nurses his glass of wine for a few more minutes. He doesn’t really want to go home, but he realizes that Patrick’s been alone there for almost an hour now, which makes David feel even more awful. He considers calling his dad to see if he could stop by the house and check on him, but that would just make Patrick angrier, and he’s not sure what that would even look like.

On the drive back he makes himself do some yoga breaths, which don’t necessarily calm him down but at least they push back the edge of impending panic that’s he’s been teetering on for the past hour. He’s not even sure what he’s going to say to Patrick. 

_You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat._ There was a time when this might have been a pretty accurate description of David, but it isn’t any longer; it hasn’t been for a long time. And it’s never described the David that Patrick knows.

He and Patrick had their moments before they got married, but overall things have been so good, David was lulled into forgetting how devastating is to have someone you trust betray you. It occurs to him that may have been exactly how Patrick felt when Roland came in to install the handrails – as ridiculous as it seems in hindsight. David still can’t really believe that Patrick would take safety handrails as a betrayal, but it seems to have triggered Patrick in a way David doesn’t understand.

Regardless of the reason, David has never seen Patrick so angry. It was frightening, and hurtful, and David really, really doesn’t like it.

The ironic thing is that the person who is best at making him feel safe is the one who is scaring him. 

Back at the house, David scans the kitchen and living room, but Patrick isn’t there. Gingerly, he walks down the hall to their bedroom. The room is dim, and David’s eyes go immediately to Patrick’s wheelchair; his heart skips a beat when he registers that it’s empty. But then he sees a long lump under the covers, and some small part of him relaxes.

Patrick got himself into bed, presumably without help. That’s a huge step. If David didn’t feel so desperately miserable right now, he’d be cheering.

The lump shifts and Patrick lifts his head up. His eyes are red and swollen. “David. You came back.”

“Of course I came back.” David can’t seem to move, though, standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around his waist. “Um, look, I’m sorry-”

“What? No, David, I’m so sorry. I was horrible to you, I can’t believe I said those things.” Patrick gulps in air, and David sees that he’s crying, maybe has been for a while given how congested his voice sounds. “I was so angry, but it shouldn’t have been at you. What I said wasn’t true. I don’t think that. I don’t know why you put up with me, you’re not selfish at all, I am, I’m awful-”

That’s it, David can’t take it, he rushes across the room and wraps Patrick in his arms. “No, no no no, absolutely not, don’t you dare say that about yourself.” He pulls Patrick close and tucks his head into his neck, stroking his short hair. Patrick is a crying, trembling mess, sweaty and flushed. “You are the least selfish person I know, you are not awful, you’re not.”

“I screamed at you,” Patrick sobs. “I scared you.”

David doesn’t quite know what to say to this, because it’s more or less true. “You didn’t mean to.” He knows that’s true, too, as soon as he says it.

“I never wanted to be that person. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry, oh my god, David, I’m so sorry.”

David holds Patrick as he cries, heart-wrenching sobs that shake his whole body. He loses track of time, petting Patrick’s head and rubbing his back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” David murmurs. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.” When Patrick finally starts to calm down, David reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a handful of tissues.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, blowing his nose noisily and wiping his face. He’s an ugly crier. David kind of loves that about him.

“So, um, how’d you get out of your chair?”

Patrick sniffs hard, then reaches up with both hands and grabs on to the top of the headboard to demonstrate. “I kind of swung myself over.”

David nods. “Good job.”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nothing about this day is good.”

David can tell Patrick just wants to burrow back under the covers and go to sleep, and he’s so close to letting him off the hook. But sticking their heads in the sand is what has gotten them here, to a place where even taciturn Ronnie Lee is judging them for their failure to communicate.

“We, um, we should really talk.”

Patrick pushes himself up to a sitting position, putting a little distance between himself and David. “I know.”

“I’m worried about you,” David says carefully, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard to look at him directly and say this. “And, um, I’m worried about us.”

If possible, Patrick’s face goes even whiter, the pink splotches on his skin from crying standing out in stark relief.

“David, what… what are you saying?”

“Patrick, I love you, I love you so much. But we’re both struggling and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Patrick is shaking, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before sound comes out. “But – but you want to fix it, right?”

“I absolutely do,” David says, biting his lip. “There’s nothing more important to me. But you have to want it too. Even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re feeling lost, you can’t keep shutting me out. Patrick… I miss you.”

“The old me.”

“You. You’re still you.”

“Hardly.”

“That’s not true, of course you are.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You treat me differently. Like I’m going to break. You won’t even touch me.”

David takes this in, trying to understand. “Do you mean sex?” he asks, puzzled.

“Yes, I mean sex,” Patrick says, quiet and sad. “We used to fool around every day, sometimes twice. Now all I get are vaguely reassuring hugs and pats on the shoulder.”

David is stunned, and somewhat offended – hugging Patrick is the best feeling in the world. “You told me you weren’t comfortable doing anything more,” David says slowly. “You were very clear. I was respecting your wishes. I was listening to you.”

“David, I was in the hospital – I said I didn’t want to fool around _in the hospital_!”

David takes in the appalled look on Patrick’s face, and suddenly he’s laughing like a crazy person, and Patrick is too. When they can breathe again, David takes Patrick’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, Patrick responding just as fiercely, until Patrick has to pull away and gasp for air.

“Still can’t really breathe through my nose,” Patrick coughs, and David bursts into laughter again, handing him another tissue. 

*****

The next morning David wakes up with Patrick curled around him, warm against his back. For a minute he doesn’t remember Patrick’s accident, it’s just a normal morning in bed with his very favorite person.

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“We have to get up soon.”

Reality seeps in, this new world where David no longer has the luxury of demanding to sleep in until ten a.m., where Patrick is more dependent upon him than anyone has ever been before.

“Okay.” He starts to move towards the edge of the bed, but Patrick tightens the arm around his chest, and he stops, realizing that this is the first time in a long time that Patrick has held him like this. “Um, everything okay?”

“I love when you hold me,” Patrick says, barely audible. “You do it all the time, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to want to touch me. You make me feel safe. I should never have said….” He takes a deep breath. “I’d… I’d be so sad if you stopped hugging me. Don’t stop, okay?”

David rolls over and takes Patrick into his arms, pulling him tight against his chest, and wrapping a leg over his thigh. “I won’t. I love it too.” David’s heart is so full, he feels like it might overflow. “I love you.”

“Thank you for making this happen for us,” Patrick whispers, and David hums in response, their catch phrase making him smile as it always does.

“Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

They’re in the car, on their way to physical therapy, when Patrick abruptly turns off the radio. “I need to tell you something.”

After their too short but still satisfying make-out session earlier this morning David doesn’t think Patrick’s about to ask for a divorce or anything, but it still doesn’t sound good.

“Okay,” he says, glancing over at Patrick, who is looking determinedly out the front window. “What’s up?”

“I haven’t been going to physical therapy.”

This is patently untrue. “Um, yes you have, I’ve been driving you there.”

“Yeah, but…” Patrick taps his hand on his knee. “I haven’t kept the appointments.”

“What, exactly, do you do after I drop you off?” Patrick has insisted on going inside by himself, and David has been spending the hour systematically trying out every half-decent coffee place in a five-mile radius from the hospital.

“I sit in the cafeteria.”

This is a strange revelation, and David takes a long breath, trying to keep an open mind. He slows down and pulls over. One good thing about living in the sticks, there’s always a place to pull off the road. He tries to focus on a practical response, while his mind spins. “Okay, then… there’s not much point to this trip. It’s certainly not worth going to Elmdale for the coffee. Should we go home?”

Patrick looks at him. “You’re not mad?”

David does a quick mental inventory to be sure. He’s not mad. He’s confused, and actually a little impressed with Patrick’s out of character refusal to color within the lines, as ridiculous as that is. “Nope. Your body, your decision. Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

David sighs, leaning his head back. “Of course I do. I want to know everything.”

“I’m not sure I can really tell you.”

 _Then why did you ask?_ David thinks. “Mkay.”

Patrick just sighs miserably.

“Ronnie thinks we’re going to break up,” David says, not sure where this comes from – it has been spinning around in his head all morning, but it seems like a non sequitur.

“Because we can’t talk to each other?” Patrick asks, and yeah, that’s how it fits in.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you think that?” Patrick asks. He looks small, and scared, and just as lost as David feels. 

David thinks maybe it’s time to bring up the elephant in the room. “You know, there’s a thing couples do sometimes, when they’re having…”

“Problems?” Patrick suggests. 

“Challenges.” 

“You think we should go to counseling?”

David has been considering it. On the one hand, he’s not really interested in sitting on a couch with Patrick while some old white guy picks apart their relationship. On other hand, he’s really not interested in any universe where he and Patrick no longer sit on the same couch, so giving counseling a try is a risk he’s willing to take.

“Yes.”

Patrick breathes out slowly. “Okay. Then take me to PT. I don’t want to have to tell the counselor that I blew off another physical therapy session.”

*****  
David has a feeling that Alexis convinces Dr. Lee to pull some strings, because they get an appointment with a couples’ counselor a few days later.

Margo is young, probably even younger than Patrick, and has several earrings in each ear. She’s not at all what David expected. Further, she’s quick and witty, and seems to understand what’s going on with them right from the start.

“Unfortunately, it’s not unusual to go through a period of depression after a trauma,” she says to Patrick, who looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin. “Or for situational depression to have a detrimental effect on a relationship, especially where your partner is doing the lion’s share of the caregiving.” She goes on in this vein for a while until they are both calm enough to hear it, and encourages them to talk to each other after the session about what has been discussed.

But for all that things have been going better between them, they still can’t seem to delve into this stuff outside of Margo’s office. 

At their next session, Margo asks them how their follow-up conversation went.

David tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but Margo calls him on it anyway.

“If we had been able to talk about it with each other we wouldn’t be here,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

“Do you agree, Patrick?”

Patrick’s gaze has been firmly fixed on his hands since they arrived.

“I don’t know if talking about it will help,” he says finally. “I’m still…”. Patrick waves his hand vaguely at his legs. “Talking about it won’t change what happened.”

“But would knowing how David is feeling about it, how he’s feeling about you, and sharing your feelings with him, possibly affect your feelings and your mood?”

Patrick glances up at David, who tries to smile at him despite the inner terror he’s feeling. “I guess.”

David reaches over and grabs Patrick’s hand, trying to figure out the right thing to say. “I know the situation sucks, but you’re doing better all the time.” He looks at Margo and then back at Patrick. It’s awkward as hell, but David’s dealt with awkward before. “I love you, Patrick.” 

Patrick remains silent. It makes David feel a little ill, to get no response at all to this.

David turns in towards Patrick, trying to block out his view of Margo. “Hey,” he whispers. “What’s going on? What do you need?”

A tear rolls down Patrick’s cheek, and David just sits there, momentarily paralyzed. This Patrick is so far away from the Patrick he knows, his confident, competent husband, and it scares him. David reaches out and puts his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, pressing Patrick’s head against his cheek. Patrick grabs him and squeezes back, hard, his face against David’s collarbone. This is good, David thinks, he said he likes it when I hug him. I can at least do this. He drops a kiss above Patrick’s ear, right by his scar, and holds on.

“This kind of thing can be hard to articulate,” Margo says. “Patrick, will you try to think about David’s question?”

Patrick straightens up and nods, wiping his face, and they move on to other topics. Margo asks David about how they are doing at home, taking the attention off of Patrick for a few minutes. Patrick chimes in after a while to talk about how he’s figured out how to coordinate with Johnny on the books for the store, doing some of the work himself and showing Johnny how to use his spreadsheets; David doesn’t mention how Patrick curses at the laptop when his hands get tired, or pretends that it’s fine when vendors leave him off their emails to David.

They don’t return to the topic of Patrick’s distress, but Patrick keeps a grip on David’s hand for the rest of the session. David doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but at least it seems like Patrick wants him there for it, whatever it might be.

******

“My parents want to come visit,” Patrick announces one night over dinner. 

David finishes his last bite of crab Rangoon. “When? I’ll reserve a room at the motel.”

“I didn’t say they were coming,” Patrick answers.

“Okay, that’s fine.” 

Patrick blinks at him. Apparently he expected an argument. “You don’t think they should come?”

“Well, they’re your parents. And god knows I know what it’s like to want a little distance between oneself and one’s parents.”

“My mom keeps emailing me. She’s worried. She says she won’t be able to sleep until she sees me in person.”

David stabs his fork into the beef and broccoli. “You could zoom her. It might satisfy her for a while.”

Patrick considers this, then picks up his phone and starts typing. 

“Why thank you, David, that’s a great idea,” David says, and Patrick laughs.

******

They’re in the car on their way home after a physical therapy session when Patrick clears his throat and says, “I was afraid it wouldn’t work.”

“Pardon?”

“PT. It’s supposed to get me back to normal, if it works. But it might not work, there’s no way to know how much things might improve, or not. So I didn’t want to go, because if I went and I did what they said and I still couldn’t relearn how to walk, then that’s it, it’s over. I’m in the chair forever.”

David’s heart stutters in his chest, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Patrick beats him to it. 

“I know that’s not rational, but you deserve to know why I skipped my appointments. That’s why.”

David is still processing this when he feels his phone buzz repeatedly; Patrick’s does too.

“What’s going on now?” David wonders, hoping it will be about something less fraught than his husband’s all too understandable fears.

Patrick reads the texts as David focuses on driving. “Stevie’s stressed because our student intern unpacked a box of lip balms and got them all mixed up.”

David lets out his breath. This is a problem he can deal with. “Mixed up with what?”

“With each other. Apparently there are five or six different kinds listed on the invoice, but they all look the same-”

“Because they’re all-natural and don’t have any artificial coloring.”

“So Stevie can’t tell them apart, and so she can’t label them, and if they aren’t labeled, she can’t sell them.”

“Tell her to sniff them – but don’t take off the cap, then they’ll look used.”

“She says she tried that, but she still can’t tell which is which, and there are hundreds of them.”

David sighs. “Well that’s clearly an exaggeration, the box holds a gross.”

Patrick types, and then waits for Stevie’s reply. “She says there are two boxes.”

“Whatever. I suppose it’s no surprise that she’s hopeless at this. Tell her I’ll come in tomorrow. It’s Saturday, we don’t have to go to Elmdale, so I can get to the store early.”

“Maybe I’ll come too.”

It’s all David can do to keep his eyes on the road and not squeal with glee. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, though, or chancing a look at Patrick to see that he’s smiling softly too. Patrick hasn’t been to the store yet since his accident, and here he is volunteering to come in. 

“Sure, that’d be nice. You never know what else Stevie’s messed up that we need to fix.”

The next morning they get up a little earlier than usual, David making sure to get the coffee going before he gets in the shower. When he comes out, Patrick is in his chair wearing one of his favorite blue button down shirts and his briefs. His jeans are down around his ankles.

“Don’t laugh,” Patrick says, and David assesses the situation, deciding that this time a joke might not actually lighten the mood. 

“You could wear your sweats,” David says carefully. “No one would care.”

“This from the man who didn’t want me to wear sneakers to work.”

“I’d like to think we can make an exception to our dress code from time to time. We can write this one in right after the Stevie Budd flannel shirt amendment.”

Patrick is unconvinced. He tugs on the waistband of his jeans, but can’t get them up past his knees. Patrick has gotten much better at moving around, and hardly ever needs David’s help to get from their bed to his chair or vice versa, but this is a task he hasn’t tried yet. Luckily Patrick doesn’t seem too thrown by the unexpected challenge of putting on his jeans. “So, are you going to help me or what?”

“Happy to,” David says. It takes a little wrangling, but between the two of them they have Patrick fully dressed a few minutes later. David notices that Patrick has chosen not his Levis but a pair of jeans David bought him – designer, but subdued. They do great things for his ass. Not that Patrick’s ass is particularly visible from his chair, but still. David appreciates the effort.

The hair on the side of Patrick’s head is now long enough to cover the red scar over his left ear. Last week David gave him a trim so that both sides matched. It would be hard to tell that the left side had ever been shaved, if you didn’t know. 

“You look great, honey,” David says, leaning down to kiss his husband. “And you smell good, too. Is that my aftershave?”

“Couldn’t find mine,” Patrick says, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

“Mmm, I like it.” David loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and breathes him in.

“Let’s go,” Patrick says.

“Okay, but it isn’t even eight o’clock. Do you want coffee, or something to eat? I could make French toast-”

“No – let’s just go.” 

Patrick’s clearly nervous, but for once his nerves don’t seem to be accompanied by a side of bitchy apprehension. David will take it.

They park right in front of the store, and David moves as quickly as he can to get Patrick’s wheelchair out and the two of them inside. He’s pretty sure that no one spots them, although he wouldn’t really mind that much if Twyla came by with some breakfast. But it’s Patrick’s first time in town in the chair, and David would prefer for it not to be complicated with visits from random busybodies.

David’s been by the store a handful of times in the past few weeks, and he’s pleased to see that nothing looks too terribly out of place. He has made both Stevie and Jocelyn facetime him so he can supervise whenever they set out a new product, but it’s not the same as seeing it in person.

David can’t help but watch as Patrick wheels slowly around the store. It’s an odd sight, most of his body hidden from view as he moves past the display tables. Then Patrick pauses by the register. He can’t quite fit the wheelchair behind the counter, and even if he could, he’d be too low to work there very easily. David cringes – he should have thought of this and at least checked to make sure the place was accessible. He watches Patrick force a neutral expression on to his face, and it hurts to see it.

“We can move that,” David says, knowing he’s taking a risk by acknowledging the problem, but the store is Patrick’s baby too, and it’s just wrong that he can’t work the counter, or maneuver his chair into the small office space behind it.

“No, it’s fine,” Patrick says, backing himself out and turning around. 

“We can sort the lip balms over here,” David says, clearing an already mostly empty space on an easier to reach back table.

“Yeah, okay.”

“And I’ll look for a new counter tonight. More of a table than a dresser.” Patrick needs to be able to get his legs underneath.

“It’s okay, David,” Patrick says, his voice tight.

“It’s not, actually,” David mutters. He lets the subject drop, and finds the two boxes of lip balms in the back room. They spread them out and start sorting.

It turns out it’s not quite as easy as David expected. Their best seller, honey vanilla, is easy to identify, as is the lavender sage. The apple rosemary is fairly individual as well, with a sweet fresh scent balanced by the deeper aroma of rosemary. But the last two – pear basil and cucumber thyme – seem to be almost identical.

After about an hour they have finished a first sweep through one box. The honey vanilla, lavender sage, and apple rosemary are all separated into baskets, ready to be labeled. But then there’s still a big pile of “not sures.”

“We could label them all cucumber pear,” Patrick suggests. “Cover all the bases.”

“Putting aside the fact that then we’d have to order new labels, that completely ignores the admittedly not very noticeable notes of basil and thyme.”

“Call them cucumber pear herb, maybe?”

“Why not just go with ‘fruit and/or vegetable’ and call it a day?” David sighs. It’s his own fault for letting this vendor get overly creative.

“’English garden’ might work,” Patrick says, smiling.

David laughs. “Natural beauty.”

“Nature.” Patrick takes a long sniff of one of the unknowns. “Just nature. Here, try it. It definitely smells like nature.”

“Hey kids, what’s so funny?”

They look up at the same time to find Stevie coming in the front door. She joins them in the back and examines the piles of lip balms, sniffing at each of them.

“You can’t tell them apart either, can you?” she asks mildly.

“Of course we can,” David says, at the same time Patrick replies, “Nope.”

Stevie grins and then pushes past David to hug Patrick. “Good to see you,” she says quietly, and hangs on to him for a long moment, her dark hair falling around Patrick’s face.

“Thanks.”

Stepping back, she surveys the scene. “Looks like you made some progress. Wanna take a break? I stopped by the café, and Twyla’s dying for you to come in.” She addresses this comment to Patrick, who gives David a panicked look.

Always good at reading a scene, Stevie backs off. “Or I could go pick us up something and we could eat here?”

“That would be great, Stevie,” David says, laying a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “We didn’t have a chance to eat before we left the house, and I’m famished.”

“Shocking,” Patrick says, and David has to hide a grin at Patrick’s inner little shit showing his face at last.

“Just for that, I won’t let you have any of my pancakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are enjoying the story - if you'd like to, please leave a comment and let me know. If that's not your style, that's fine too. I know this time of year is especially hard for a lot of us, and so whether or not you want to chat, I hope thinking about David and Patrick brings a little bit of joy (or at least welcome h/c) into your day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end... this chapter contains some pretty important developments for David and Patrick.

David is excited at their next session with Margo. He tells her about how Patrick came to the store, and how good it felt to have him there, and how proud he is of Patrick for getting out of the house. 

But when he turns to Patrick, hoping to have him echo his hopeful thoughts, Patrick is anything but happy.

“Patrick? What’s wrong?”

“David doesn’t understand,” Patrick grinds out, speaking to Margo. 

“Okay, time out, this really isn’t fair – he can’t say that if he doesn’t explain, right?” David is on board with this counseling thing, he truly is, but not if Patrick just uses it to make vague, unsubstantiated allegations.

“Patrick, can you explain why you think David doesn’t understand?”

David has the feeling that if it wasn’t such a pain for Patrick to get back into his chair, he’d be storming out of the room. But Margo is good at letting Patrick take his time, and David pushes down his frustration and tries to follow suit.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” Patrick finally says, like he’s choking out each word. “I should be able to go to the store – our store – without freaking out about it. There’s no reason I can’t go back to work now, I know that’s what David’s thinking – we can both just go back to work now, and everything will be normal, except…”

“Except what?” Margo prompts.

David waits, his hands gripping his knees.

“Except that’s just it. Me. I’m not back to normal. Nobody knows if I ever will be again, and-” Patrick puts his hands up over his face and sucks in a sob, “and David is going to get tired of waiting for me.”

“Patrick,” David breathes out, his whole body shaking. “Is that – is that what you have been worried about? You think I’m going to leave you because you can’t walk?”

Patrick folds in on himself, and David nearly does the same. The words are stark, but the unknowns of Patrick’s recovery are what’s been haunting him since Patrick woke up in the hospital, and it’s no surprise that it’s at the core of Patrick’s fears, too.

“I’m not going to leave you, Patrick,” David says, putting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and leaning in close. “It doesn’t matter if you never get out of that chair, I swear to you, it doesn’t. You are the love of my life, and that’s not going to change. I’d carry you around on my back for the rest of my life for the privilege of spending it with you, Patrick Brewer.”

Patrick grabs on to David and buries his face in his neck, sniffling and crying. “I know it’s stupid, I know it, I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It’s not stupid. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” Apparently, this is what Patrick needed to hear, and now that David knows, he can’t say it enough. David rubs his back and kisses his head, repeating “it’s okay, baby, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens or doesn’t happen.”

“I’m so scared,” Patrick says, face still pressed against David’s skin. “I hate this. I hate it so much.”

“Me too,” David says. “Me too.”

******

They’re in the car again on the way back from a PT session and a check in with Patrick’s doctor – whoever said most serious conversations happen in the car was definitely on to something – when Patrick asks whether David has ever been sick.

“Sick?”

The car is making a funny noise when David brakes, and he’s trying to figure out if it’s the kind of normal noise you only think is unusual because most of the time it’s drowned out by the radio, or the kind of noise that means “stop the car immediately.”

“Yeah, or, like, were you ever in the hospital.”

David’s about to pull over, weird noise or not, because this is kind of an odd question and he really doesn’t know where it’s coming from. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

David glances at Patrick, and he seems perfectly fine. He even gives David a “what?” kind of look, so David shrugs and goes with it.

“I was dehydrated from a fever when I was a baby and had to be in the hospital overnight, I sprained my ankle when I was on a fifth grade trip to Montreal and they made me go to the doctor, I had chicken pox… and, um…” David pauses, wondering whether Patrick expects him to list every single time. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Sure,” Patrick says, noncommittally. “Nothing when you were older?”

David really doesn’t want to talk about when he got his stomach pumped in L.A., eighteen years old and stupidly partying with people twice his age, or when Alexis rushed him to the emergency room in Barcelona, convinced he was dying after someone slipped something into his drink.

“What’s this really about?”

“You just seem, um, really nervous in the hospital.” When David glances over, Patrick is looking at him intently, his brown eyes full of concern.

“I think I’m a perfectly reasonable amount of nervous in the hospital,” David says, ignoring the flutter in his stomach.

“But you’re not even the one who’s hurt.”

David does pull over then, because his chest clenches and while he’s very sure it isn’t a heart attack, they’ve had enough excitement in their lives lately. “Patrick,” he says, tugging on his sleeve until Patrick turns to face him, “it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been hurt. This is the first time, for me, that _you’ve_ been hurt. I don’t think a million emergency room visits to pump out my stomach could have prepared me for how it felt to see you unconscious in that bed.”

Patrick’s eyes go wide. “Okay, we’ll get to that very sweet sentiment in a minute, but – how many times did you have your stomach pumped?”

Fuck, he really didn’t mean to let that slip. “Just twice, unless you count – but that’s not the point.”

Patrick’s looking at him intently, and David ducks his head, feeling exposed. 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“What did you mean, exactly?” David asks.

“I figured if maybe I knew what was making you so nervous, I could do something to help.” 

Patrick’s voice is soft and gentle, and David realizes how long it’s been since Patrick has been the one trying to console him – not that David was even upset for the reason Patrick suspected, but… it feels nice. He thinks for a moment about how to respond. He doesn’t want to just brush this off.

“There is something,” David says. 

“What?”

“I’d like to come into your doctor’s appointments with you,” David says, and goes on quickly, trying to explain. “So I know what’s happening. And that way you wouldn’t have to repeat everything to me, which I know is awkward, and if they give you any instructions, I could help you keep track of what you need to do.” _And I wouldn’t have to worry that whatever is going on is actually worse than you’re willing to admit,_ David thinks.

Patrick smiles wryly and tilts his head back in the seat. “I thought I was doing you a favor by telling you to wait in the hall, but you were anxious because you wanted to be in the room.”

“Pretty much. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want that, I know it’s private and you don’t have much that’s private these days. But you asked, so.”

Patrick bites his lip, then leans over and kisses David quickly. “Let me think about it, okay? But I’ll tell you what Dr. Lee said today, if you want to know.”

“Okay, yeah, that’d be good,” David says. Then he sighs dramatically and puts the car in gear, looking back and forth at the deserted road before he pulls back on. “But leave out anything about his infatuation with Alexis. Some things should truly remain private.”

Patrick laughs softly, and they drive on in relative silence for a few minutes. Then Patrick starts fidgeting, and David braces himself for whatever’s coming next.

“It’s not that I think you’re shallow or anything,” Patrick starts.

“Okay, that’s not a weird way to start a conversation,” David replies, wondering if he needs to pull over again. At this rate they’ll never get home.

“No, I’m sorry, I just mean…” Patrick rubs his hands on his thighs. “What I said the other day… part of me knows you wouldn’t leave me if I don’t get better, that would be a horrible thing to think of you. I don’t really think that, most of the time. But it’s not really about you.”

David glances over to Patrick, who is worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “Okay.” 

“The thought that I might never get out of this chair, that I wouldn’t be able to do so many things – mow the lawn, hike a trail, pull something down off of a high shelf… go for a run when I’m stressed. My brain gets stuck on that. I’m so dependent. And I can’t walk next to you, can’t reach out and pull you up against me, it’s all so much harder with the chair in the way. It makes me feel less-”

“You’re not-” David interrupts, and Patrick glares at him. “Sorry, sorry. I’m listening. Go on.”

“Whether or not I am less, I feel that way. Less capable. Less useful. Less confident. And so I really am different. And when you figure that out, I don’t know if you’ll like me as much. And you can tell me over and over that it won’t happen, but it’s still… it’s still in my head.”

David reaches over and takes Patrick’s hand. He wants to say something to fix this, but Patrick just told him that words don’t help. He gives Patrick’s hand a squeeze and looks over at him, wondering if Patrick can read in his eyes all the love that he’s feeling. Patrick holds his glance for a moment, and squeezes back.

*****

It takes a little bit longer for David to put his plan for the store into action than he had hoped, but after way too many emails with Jake, and a lucky find at an estate sale, he’s ready to talk to Patrick about it.

Patrick is laying on the couch against David, playing with the gold rings on his fingers. They’ve been light-heartedly debating what to do with their Saturday afternoon, David having firmly rejected all sports-watching activities, and Patrick declaring that he’s all rom-com’d out for the time being. Patrick is relaxed, and cuddly, and David is a little afraid to ruin it all by raising what he knows is a sore subject, but he’s not likely to get a better opportunity.

“Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“Any chance I could convince you to come into the store with me tomorrow morning?”

David can feel Patrick tense against him. 

“Why? Did Stevie mix up the lip balms again?”

“No. I, um, made some provisional adjustments to the layout, to make our space more accessible.”

Patrick has let go of David’s hands. “Provisional upon what?”

“Upon your approval.”

“David.” There’s a note of warning in Patrick’s voice, and David can tell he’s about to get yelled at.

“Give me a minute to explain before you get angry, okay? You’re going to be using the chair for a while more, even best-case scenario. And my dad and Stevie can’t run the store much longer. You’re bored out of your mind being home all day, and - I really think this could work.”

Patrick shoves himself up and off of David, awkwardly propelling himself to the other end of the couch. “I am pretty bored,” he says, a little bitterly. “But it’s a waste of money to make changes to the store for me.”

“It’s absolutely not. And anyway, the store is doing very well this month, as you know. I think people are coming in to gossip with my dad and then they get guilted into buying things?” Actually David thinks they’re coming in out of morbid curiosity, to see if Johnny has screwed around with David’s vision, but that’s almost what he said. “We’ve got the cash. And I found a nice piece to use as the counter-top. It’ll be a two-level table which can work for either sitting or standing. Jake put together a mock-up, he won’t charge us until we give him the go-ahead.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Patrick,” David scoots closer to him, nudging at his leg with one hand. “Is it really the cost that’s bothering you?”

The tips of Patrick’s ears color with embarrassment. “You know it isn’t just that.”

Patrick doesn’t like people seeing him in the wheelchair. They both know it, and David isn’t going to force him to say it. 

“You could just come help after hours,” David says calmly.

“But that’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?” Patrick says, looking down at his legs. “I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I need to get over it.”

David leans closer, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and tucking his head in next to his. “You don’t _need_ to get over it. But if you started going out more, it might get less awful. And then you might feel less trapped.”

Patrick turns towards him. “Trapped?”

“If I suddenly had to rely on someone else anytime I wanted to leave the house, even if it was you, I’d feel trapped.”

“I still can’t drive.”

“There are adjustments we could make to the car, we talked about-”

“Absolutely not,” Patrick says, his voice rising. He takes a deep breath and when he speaks again, he’s working on staying calm. “We talked about that, it’s expensive and drastic and – and I really don’t mind you driving me around. I don’t feel trapped, exactly. But I guess I am a little… lonely.” Patrick’s gaze flits to David’s and then away.

“You don’t have to look so guilty when you say that,” David says, pushing down the twinge he feels at Patrick’s words. “When you decided to spend the rest of your life with me, you didn’t mean _only_ with me.” David takes Patrick’s hand and squeezes it.

“Still feels kind of mean to say it.”

“Look, I get out of the house all the time – I visit vendors, I stop by the store and critique my dad and Stevie, I chat with Twyla and half the town while I’m waiting for our take-out at the café. If I was stuck in here all day long with you every day for weeks on end I’d be going a little stir-crazy too.”

There’s a beat, and then Patrick says, “Nice thing to say to your injured husband.” David welcomes his teasing tone with an internal cheer.

“You can be kind of a lot,” David says, straight faced.

Patrick barks out a laugh, and David swoops in and smacks kisses against Patrick’s smile. 

*****  
They’re in bed one night, watching some random Marvel movie on Patrick’s laptop, when David feels the mood change.

Patrick is lying with his head on David’s chest, one arm draped over his waist. And he’s moving closer, shifting against him, so tentatively David almost doesn’t notice.

David glances down at him, and Patrick looks up, his eyes flitting to David’s mouth. 

“Getting tired of the movie?” David asks.

Patrick feigns nonchalance, and David feels a thrill of excitement shoot through him. They’ve played this game before.

“If you are,” Patrick says. “I mean, I’ve seen it before.”

“Mmm, and I never need to see it.” David closes the laptop and puts it on the bedside table. When he looks back at Patrick, his big brown eyes are wide. “Patrick?”

“Yeah?” Patrick says.

“You wanna fool around?”

Patrick’s face goes on a journey that David wishes he could preserve forever, from nerves to determination to aroused excitement. “Oh god, I really do.” He surges forward and kisses David, one hand cupping his cheek, his whole body pressing close.

David lets out a moan that would be embarrassing if he so very much _did not care_ right now, reveling in the feel of his husband’s body warm and longing against his own. They kiss with abandon for a few minutes, all tongue and no finesse, Patrick’s hand in David’s hair and David holding on to Patrick’s shoulder.

“Can I take this off?” Patrick breathes out, tugging at David’s t-shirt, and soon both their shirts are off. They move back together, skin touching and sending sparks though David’s body. David is sensitized all over, shivering as Patrick scratches at the hair on his chest and thumbs at his nipples. David skims his teeth along Patrick’s jaw and sucks at a spot behind his ear, making Patrick whine and thrust his pajama-clad hips against David’s.

It’s so good, David can hardly breathe. He runs his hand down Patrick’s back to his ass, giving it a squeeze and encouraging Patrick to continue his thrusts.

Patrick’s panting into his ear, his hand clutching at David’s side, but then his breath catches and he stops. Just stops.

David freezes, breathing hard, and rests his forehead against Patrick’s while he wills himself to remember how to think. He knew this could happen, he’s played this scenario over in his head a dozen times. David even thinks he knows what to do. He just needs to listen to Patrick and make sure he knows he’s safe.

“Hey,” David says softly, sliding his wayward hands back up above Patrick’s waist. “It’s okay.” He shifts, easing their hips just the tiniest bit apart, and rubs Patrick’s back. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s okay.” 

For a long moment the only noise in the room is their labored breathing. Then Patrick presses his face into the space between David’s neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize. We can pause for a while, or we can stop-”

“No, I – I really don’t want to stop.”

David pulls back so he can see Patrick’s face. “Okay. We’ll just pause, then, for a bit.”

Patrick stares at David, and then flops over onto his back, his hand over his face. “I haven’t been this nervous about sex since our first time.”

David hums, raising up on an elbow. “I couldn’t tell you were nervous then.”

Patrick moves his hand and looks at David. “You’re kidding, right?”

David laughs. “Maybe a little. But you were so sexy…” He bites his lip and shimmies closer to Patrick, drawing circles on his shoulder with a fingertip. “You took my breath away.”

“I was petrified. I had literally never touched another guy’s dick before.”

“I know. But believe me, that is not what I was thinking about at the time.”

“Oh? What were you thinking about?” Patrick asks.

David pauses long enough that Patrick has to prompt him.

“I didn’t mean for that to be a hard question.”

David snorts. “No, sorry, it isn’t, it shouldn’t be. I was just remembering… I mean on one hand, I spent a lot of time before that night thinking about what I needed to do to not fuck things up with you, to try to tone it down, not make you change your mind about me. But in the moment…” David forces himself to look at Patrick, who is gazing back with earnest concern, “in the moment, all I could think of was how beautiful you are.”

Patrick blushes, and then he leans in and kisses David, warm and perfect. “I love you, David Rose.”

“I love you too.”

Patrick kisses him again, and again, and David leans over him, one hand holding himself up and the other holding Patrick’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. He keeps his hips angled away, aware in the back of his mind that Patrick still really hasn’t given them the green light to continue.

Patrick takes the initiative after a few minutes, however, sliding a hand down to David’s hip, and giving it a squeeze. “I, um, I want to keep going,” he says, but he doesn’t move any further.

“Is there something in particular you’re nervous about?” David asks. “Maybe I can help.”

Patrick gives a jittery laugh. “I want to touch you, I want to touch you so bad, but I’m afraid my grip’s gonna be too loose, or I could have a muscle spasm and it’ll be too tight.”

“Honestly, my dick is pretty excited about either of those options right now.”

Patrick snorts against David’s shoulder, and David leans down to whisper in his ear. “I want your hands on me, Patrick, any way you want. I want you to touch me. Whatever feels good to you, I promise it’s going to feel good to me. You’re not going to do anything wrong. And if you change your mind, we’ll stop. Anytime. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, “okay, yeah.” Patrick pulls David’s head down with a hand to the back of his head, and they kiss, this time letting it heat up fast with all the intensity of their pent-up arousal. Patrick tugs at David’s sleep pants and David hurries out of them, still kissing Patrick.

“Want yours off too?” David asks, and when Patrick nods, he carefully eases Patrick’s pants off and tosses them on the floor. David can’t help admiring Patrick, naked and flushed, his cock hard and leaking. He’s seen Patrick naked plenty of times, but he still takes his breath away.

“Look at you,” David says, catching Patrick’s gaze. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Come here.” Patrick reels David in, and David goes easily, until their bodies are pressed together from chest to groin, feet moving restlessly as they kiss.

This time Patrick lets himself go, gripping David’s ass and pressing a thigh between his legs, humming his appreciation when David’s hands weave between them and find his cock. 

“What do you want, baby?” David asks, kissing along Patrick’s jaw and down his chest. “What do you want?”

Patrick captures his mouth with his own, pressing his chest to David’s and shifting his hips until their bare cocks are pressed together. “Like this?” His voice is tight and David can tell that he’s already getting close, wound up from so many weeks without.

“Good, yeah, okay,” David scrabbles with one hand in the bedside table drawer, miraculously finding the lube without having to untangle himself from Patrick, who is thrusting against him deliciously. “Here, let me-” He squirts lube in the general direction of their cocks, messy and wet, and feels Patrick’s hand wrapping around them both. 

David works with him, his hand over Patrick’s, both of them urgently twisting and stroking. They’re panting into each other’s mouths, and it isn’t long before David is losing control completely. “Oh god, Patrick, oh, please, yeah, oh, oh-”

Suddenly Patrick jerks and shudders, and he comes with a low moan. David follows him over the edge, his body exploding in a burst of light.

“Love you so much, David,” Patrick breathes out, stroking David’s flank as he comes down. “Thank you, fuck, god, thank you.”

“I’d say no thanks are necessary, but I was pretty amazing,” David says lightly, pulling Patrick against him and kissing his cheek. They can pretend it’s normal, that it’s just another night of mutually satisfying sex in a long wonderful string of nights together, but they know it’s more than that. It’s Patrick learning to trust himself again, and it makes David’s heart soar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate it!


	8. Chapter 8

David’s head is pounding when his alarm goes off. He swats it and turns over, curling up under the blankets.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he feels someone gripping his arm. “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping.”

“David? It’s almost eight, you overslept.”

David scrunches his eyes closed. He flinches from the touch of Patrick’s hand on his forehead.

“Shit, you’re burning up.” Patrick’s hand is cool, almost painful on his skin as he rests the back of his hand on David’s cheek, and then it’s gone. David presses his face into the pillow and drifts off.

The next thing he knows is Patrick shaking him again. “I know you don’t feel good, honey,” Patrick says, his voice soft. “But sit up just for a sec, and take some medicine. Come on.”

David squints one eye open and sees Patrick in his chair, next to the bed. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand, and Patrick has two Tylenol in his hand. David shoves himself up against the pillows and takes the pills, his hand trembling as he brings the glass of water to his mouth.

“Drink all of it,” Patrick says, and David grimaces. His throat is on fire and the water isn’t helping. He drains as much as he can stand from the glass, Patrick taking it from his hand when it is clear that David is done.

David sinks back against the pillows and closes his eyes. He falls asleep to the reassuring sensation of Patrick stroking his shoulder.

He dreams about hiking, but instead of climbing a rather tame Canadian hill, they’re in the desert, David and Patrick and far too many cactuses – cacti? There’s a long road winding in the distance, but they’ve got a ways to go to reach it, and their path is filled with sand and rocks and darting small versions of wildlife that seem to morph between lizards and furry things that might be weasels. Patrick scolds David for not wearing mountaineering shoes, and tells him to take off his sweater because it’s making him overheat. Suddenly there’s a cliff, and Patrick is standing close to the edge, pointing out the view, and then he’s gone, disappearing over it without a word.

“David,” a voice calls, and David jolts awake, eyes flashing open to see Patrick’s worried face. 

“You shouldn’t stand near the edge,” David says, grabbing Patrick’s arm.

“Um, okay, I won’t,” Patrick says. 

David blinks, looking around at their bedroom, his eyes landing on the dresser from Patrick’s old apartment, the wardrobe half open with all his knitwear stored carefully inside, the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “I was dreaming,” David says, and he tries to take in a deep breath, but his throat hurts too much.

“I got that,” says Patrick. “Here, drink this.”

David shakes his head. “It hurts.”

“This won’t.” Patrick tilts the glass towards him, a straw sticking up towards his mouth. 

David takes a sip and practically moans in relief. “What is that?”

“Chocolate Nutella milkshake. Twyla brought us some supplies.”

“She didn’t make it herself,” David says. It’s not even a question – Twyla’s concoctions are universally terrible.

“No, she did not.” Patrick leaves the milkshake in David’s hand and points their thermometer at David’s forehead. “Hold still for a second.”

David lets Patrick take his temperature, not really paying much attention. When he’s done, Patrick tilts the milkshake straw in David’s direction. He drinks a little more, then shakes his head to try to clear it. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Time for you to take another dose. We’ll alternate until your fever comes down.” Patrick shakes a few Advil out of the bottle on the nightstand, but David is still confused.

“But it’s Monday. You have PT. We have to go.” David pushes the blankets down and tries to get out of bed, but Patrick stops him with a hand to his shoulder. David feels so weak he can hardly fight back.

“We’re not going. Lie down,” Patrick says firmly.

“No, it’s okay,” David says. “Let me get up and get dressed, I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” says Patrick, and reaches over to tuck David back in. “I can skip a day, I already called and told them. Go back to sleep. If you’re good, I’ll make you another milkshake for dinner.”

David sighs. His bed does feel wonderful, and his arms and legs feel far too heavy to get out of it. But Patrick needs him, he needs to be taken care of. David can’t just stay in bed all day.

“That’s very sweet, honey, but I can take care of both of us today.”

“Didn’t say that out loud,” David mumbles.

“You did, and that’s okay. You’ll feel better soon, when your temperature comes down. Close your eyes.”

Patrick is rubbing circles on David’s back, and David is powerless to resist as sleep overtakes him once more.

It’s another twenty-four hours before David feels like himself again. He wakes up to Patrick pressing his lips to his forehead and smiling.

“Do I pass the kiss test?” David asks, smiling back. He swallows tentatively – even his throat feels better. He clearly wasn’t as sick as it seemed.

“Yup, you pass,” Patrick says, pulling David into his arms. “You’re back to your regular levels of hot.”

David squirms and runs a hand through his rather disgusting hair. “Say that again after I’ve taken a shower.”

“Deal.” Patrick presses a kiss to David’s lips, and David opens easily to him. Sadly, Patrick breaks it off all too soon. 

David covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, I must taste awful.”

Patrick laughs. “You’re not exactly minty fresh, but, um, since you’re not on your deathbed anymore, I kind of have plans.”

David stares at his husband. “You what? What kind of plans?” He realizes that Patrick is fully dressed, and apparently got back in bed just to wake David up with a kiss, like some fairy tale prince. 

“Stevie’s taking me out to lunch,” Patrick says quickly. He’s looking away from David, but he's still got a hand on David's shoulder, worrying his thumb against his skin. 

David may have been stuck in bed with a fever, but he hasn’t forgotten how to read his husband, and while Patrick is obviously feeling awkward about whatever this is, it is clearly important to him, too. They haven’t been out to eat since Patrick’s accident, and Patrick hasn’t been in the car with anyone other than David.

“That’s great,” he says slowly, choosing to focus on the most critical part of this piece of news – Patrick agreeing to go out in public, despite his embarrassment. “Where are you going?”

Patrick blinks at him, and then adjusts. It’s what they do. “The Thai place in Elm Valley. With the good satays.”

“Bring me home some masaman curry?”

“Sure.” Patrick gracelessly rolls to his back and lets out a long breath. “I was afraid you’d be mad,” he says to the ceiling. “But Stevie offered to take me to PT tomorrow, if you weren’t well enough, and then since you were feeling better last night I told her she didn’t have to, and she said she had been looking forward to getting together, and I’ve missed her too, so she asked me to have lunch, and I – I just said yes.”

“That sounds nice.” David rolls to his side and puts their joined hands on Patrick’s chest.

“Maybe. But…” Patrick turns his head and catches David’s gaze. “I haven’t, since-”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to go to the café.”

It makes sense. Everyone at Café Tropicale knows him, and would want to have a chat, and ask too many questions. “The Thai place is neutral territory,” David says. David and Patrick love it, the wait staff are friendly but not nosy, and he doesn’t think they’ve ever run into anyone from Schitt’s Creek there. It’s a good choice for Patrick’s first foray out in the world. David wishes he had thought of it.

“Yeah. And I called, it’s accessible.”

David feels a little pang, and thinks of Stevie trying to get Patrick’s chair over a too high threshold, or god forbid up a stair. They’ve put a few rubber threshold ramps in their own doorways to make it easier for Patrick – it’s ridiculous how hard it is to get around in a wheelchair. “Good thinking.”

They lie there for another minute, and David can feel how uncomfortable it is. He doesn’t quite know why, and he’s searching for something to say to lighten the mood, when Patrick speaks up.

“Do you, um, do you want to come?”

David instantly knows his answer has to be no. It’s hard to say, when it means Patrick will be out there away from him. There will be someone else helping Patrick in and out of the car, making sure his feet don’t catch and trip him up. Someone else responsible for his safety, for making sure he doesn’t freak out, for protecting him from prying eyes.

But David has to say no because by agreeing to go out to lunch with Stevie, _without_ David, Patrick hasn’t just decided to risk that Stevie won’t let him down. Patrick has decided to trust himself, and David needs to trust him, too.

David pushes up on an elbow and waits until Patrick looks at him, and then he smiles and ducks down for a kiss. “Nah. You go. I’ll be here when you get home.”

The look on Patrick’s face is like the sunrise. “Yeah?”

David wraps his arms around his husband. “Yeah. You’ll do just fine.” 

Patrick hangs on tight, and David presses his hands to his back, hugging him for all he’s worth. They’re strong, the both of them, and they’re going to be okay.

*****

A few days later when they get to the hospital Patrick tells David to park in the lot instead of dropping him off at the front door.

“Everything okay?” David asks.

Patrick nods. “Yeah, but, um, I want you to come to PT with me.”

They take the elevator to the second floor (it’s not a very big hospital – David thinks the whole thing could fit in one wing of Sloan-Kettering) and Patrick leads him down the hall to the physical therapy department. When his name is called, they go into a large room and are met by a tall man with a ponytail and an impressive set of muscles.

“Is this your doctor?” David asks under his breath. “He looks like he could hurt me.”

The ponytail guy is in fact Patrick’s physical therapist, Luis, and he introduces himself and then he and Patrick get to work. David sits in a chair at the side of the room and watches. He’s impressed at how hard Patrick is working.

“David?” Luis beckons him over to where Patrick is sitting on a padded table.

“Yes?” David stands awkwardly next to Patrick, not sure what his role is in this situation.

“This is the part I wanted you to be here for,” Patrick says.

David looks at him quizzically.

“I asked Luis to give me some exercises to work on at home.”

Luis clears his throat, and Patrick frowns. “I asked him to give me some _more_ exercises to work on at home, since I haven’t been making progress as quickly as I would like to. And there are some things you can help me with. So I can learn how to walk again. If you’re willing.”

“Of course,” David says quickly. He looks from Patrick to Luis, who has a rather doubtful look on his face. “Of course I’ll help, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I… I wanted to do this by myself. I didn’t want you to have something else to worry about. But I realized that by not letting you help, I was just hurting us anyway.”

It sounds like a rehearsed speech, and David doesn’t miss Luis nodding his approval.

“Is there something else going on here? And honestly, I haven’t seen you do any exercises at home.”

“I don’t do them when you’re home.”

“But I’m almost always home,” David says. “Oh. Oh. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You didn’t want to do your exercises with me there, and I’m usually there, so…”

“So I don’t do it.” Patrick says. “But I’m not going to pull that crap any more. I’m way behind-”

“There’s not really a timetable,” Luis tries to interject.

“There is, there is definitely a timetable, it’s far past time for me to get out of this goddamn chair,” Patrick insists. “I’m going to put the work in every day from now on.”

“We’ll put the work in every day,” David says, ignoring how ridiculously sappy he sounds.

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick says, blushing. “Yeah.”

That night at home David pulls out the yoga mat that Patrick has kept shoved under their bed and spreads it out in the middle of the living room floor next to their reclaimed oak coffee table. 

“David – you don’t have to do that. It looks dumb there.”

David isn’t going to argue that the bright blue synthetic mat doesn’t exactly fit the carefully curated cream and crimson tones of their living room, but that’s hardly the point right now. “It’s too cramped in the bedroom. You said you wanted to take this seriously, so we’re taking it seriously.”

It turns out Patrick has a spreadsheet of all the exercises he was supposed to be doing. David sits himself down on the floor next to Patrick and coaches him through his stretches, using his phone to time him, and occasionally adjusting his position.

“Nice. That last one was even better. Concentrate on engaging your core.”

Patrick pauses, sweaty and panting, and looks curiously at David.

“Something on your mind?” David asks.

“How are you so good at this?”

David raises his eyebrows. “If you must know… Alexis wanted to make the cheer team when she was in junior high, but she was a disaster. Mom hired a trainer for her, but he just wanted to get high with our driver. So I worked up a plan, and made sure Alexis practiced.”

“Did she make the team?”

David laughs. “No way, have you seen her dance? But she could do a mean split and broke a seven-minute mile.”

Patrick sits up with a grunt and leans his head on David’s shoulder. “I should have let you help me from the beginning.”

“You said it, not me.”

It’s a pretty good day, all things considered. But David’s favorite part is the last set of exercises they do.

Patrick sits in a chair, and with David’s help, pulls himself up to a standing position. It’s very similar to how David has been helping him transfer in and out of his wheelchair, but this time Patrick lets himself rest more weight on his legs, pausing and holding himself in position there instead of just pivoting to the next step in the process.

Both of them are somewhat surprised to realize that Patrick can almost support himself. He’s come a long way even if he hasn’t been doing his exercises as much as he was supposed to. He stands carefully, finding his balance, with his arms looped tightly around the back of David’s neck, their bodies pressed close together.

“Now you’re supposed to lean from side to side,” David says, locking his grip firmly around Patrick’s back. Patrick tries it, and his knee buckles, but David holds him tight. “Go on, try again.” 

Patrick sucks in a breath, and then shifts his weight to one side and then the other. It’s like dancing, almost, but better. Patrick’s biting his lip in concentration as he works, and when he finishes the count of ten back and forths, he looks up at David, beaming.

“I did it,” he says softly, and David grins back at him.

“Yeah, you did.” David leans in and kisses him, but keeps it quick – Patrick’s beginning to tremble and it wouldn’t really do to end the day with him collapsing to the floor.

Patrick falls asleep that night almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, but not before they kiss again, sweet and soft. “You’re the best, you know that?”

David pulls him close. “So I’ve been told.”


	9. Epilogue

David glances at the tub to make sure Patrick has settled in without drowning, and then heads into the kitchen. Patrick needs less help getting around these days, but David still gets anxious around issues like slippery bathtubs and potential falls that might aggravate head injuries. Generally Patrick lets David help him get into the tub, and out again, and David gives him privacy while he’s in there – if he wants it. Patrick realized early on, though, that having David wash his hair was worth the indignity of getting help with his bath – David is excellent at scalp massage.

They don’t ever mention the safety handrail, although Patrick uses it every time.

Things haven’t been easy, not by a long shot. They made the mistake of setting an unrealistic goal for Patrick to walk on his own – their one year anniversary – and when it didn’t happen, Patrick sulked for a week, and David tore his hair out wondering whether there was something he could have done differently. But they’ve continued to see Margo, and dance in the living room, and Patrick’s condition is continually improving.

Now it’s almost two months to the day past their wedding anniversary. In contrast to David’s grumpy-ass approach to monthly anniversaries when they first started dating, today they will be celebrating. 

David is thinking about what to make for a properly festive breakfast – he’s leaning towards pancakes – when Patrick’s voice cuts into his daydreaming.

“David?” 

“Mm?” He pokes his head into the bathroom. Patrick has put one of their new products in the bath water, and the room is filling up with an enticing aroma, cedar and citrus and a hint of musk. 

“C’mere,” Patrick says, fixing him with an intent look.

David blinks and focuses on Patrick’s face. Warmth blooms in his chest. Patrick’s not just asking him to pass over a towel or bring over a fresh bottle of conditioner. Patrick _wants him._

It’s only a few steps over to the tub, but David can practically feel the swing in his hips as he complies. He lowers himself to the floor, on his knees, his face next to Patrick’s. “Need a hand with something?”

It’s just this side of too much, and as intended, Patrick is amused, biting his lip and smiling despite himself. He seems to mull over his next words, and then just gives a little shrug and grins at David. “Get in here with me already.”

David grins back and bounces up to his feet, stripping off his t-shirt and pajama pants. He pauses when he gets to his briefs, just to make sure they’re on the same page, and Patrick reaches up and gives the hem a tug. “Come on.”

David slides them off and turns to fold his clothes neatly on the counter, knowing full well it puts his naked ass on display for Patrick. When he turns back, Patrick’s pupils are shot with arousal. It’s good to know some things don’t change.

“Where do you want me?” David asks. They haven’t taken many baths together, at least not the sexy kind. Luckily even though their small house has only the one bathroom, the renovations they did right before moving in included adding a tub large enough for them both.

“I don’t care, just get in here.” Patrick breathes out. 

David gets in, but he’s careful not to let his excitement get the best of him. Even before Patrick’s accident they had some near disasters in the shower. It’s just a slippery place.

Finally he’s settled, facing Patrick, with his legs on either side of him, knees bent so that he can get close. Patrick’s legs are mirroring his own, and they’re wrapped around each other, warm skin everywhere. David ducks to press a kiss to Patrick’s knee, and slides his hands up his thighs to his hips.

Patrick lets out a little sigh and laces his hands around the back of David’s neck, nuzzling at his chin and jaw. Soon his lips find David’s and they’re kissing, hot and wet.

“Mmm, you taste good,” David says. “Three cheers for all-natural bath products.”

Patrick laughs against his cheekbone, his wet hands pulling at David’s shoulders. “You taste good too.” Patrick squirms closer and David tightens his hold on Patrick’s waist, not wanting him to slip. Patrick leans in and captures his mouth, a hand sliding down to David’s ass, and David cups his hand around the back of Patrick’s head. 

Patrick nips at David’s bottom lip at the same time as he gives David’s ass a squeeze, and David moans into his mouth. “Fuck, Patrick,” he breathes out, “what you do to me.”

David is shifting to try to give Patrick’s persistent hand on his ass better access when they hear a voice from the hallway.

“Patrick? The door was unlocked, your mom is bringing in the—Oh.”

In retrospect, flinging oneself away from one’s intimate partner while in a bathtub is not a good idea. But all David can think about as he tries to curl up into a ball, his legs still tangled with Patrick’s, is that he will never be able to face Patrick’s dad again. And how much his elbow hurts from apparently slamming it against the side of the tub.

“Sorry! Don’t mind me, I know we’re early, thought we’d stop by before – our mistake – we’ll just meet you at the motel, sorry!” Clint’s voice trails off, and David hears a little snort from Patrick. A quick glance up confirms that Clint is no longer standing in the doorway to the bathroom, but David can still hardly breathe what with the mortification streaming through his body.

“Babe, are you okay?” Patrick runs his hands from David’s shoulders down his arms, pausing where David is clutching his elbow. David feels a warm press to his skin, and his pries his eyes open to see Patrick dropping a kiss to what is likely to be a spectacular bruise.

David reluctantly meets Patrick’s gaze, surprised to find laughter lighting his eyes. He feels his body slowly relax as Patrick’s arms loop around his neck.

“How are you not….?” David asks, at a loss for words. “Did you know - I had no idea they would come here. We were supposed to see them for lunch,” he starts to look around, wondering if he should get out of the tub and go after them, apologize. “I’ll tell them it was my fault-”

Patrick barks out a laugh and grabs David’s hand off the side of the bathtub. “Don’t apologize, and don’t go anywhere. It’s okay.”

David glares at him. “How is it okay? Your dad just saw us-” David waves his hand at the state of their now very less aroused but still utterly naked bodies.

“He’ll survive. And so will we. Seems kind of fair, though, it’s never happened before…”

David’s parents weren’t around enough while he was a kid to find him in that kind of compromising position, but that’s a topic for another day. “Really? They never came out to the driveway to shine a flashlight into your car to see what was taking so long? Did you have a ‘door open’ rule for your bedroom?”

Patrick grins and pushes David’s damp hair out of his eyes. “Rachel and I were very chaste in high school, for reasons that are a lot clearer to me now.”

David considers Patrick, the light in his eyes and his giddy smile, and it dawns on him. “Oh my god. You’re – you’re kind of proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Patrick shrugs, his smile stretching his cheeks. “My gorgeous husband thinks I’m hot and wants to get it on in the tub. What’s not to be proud of?”

*****

That night they gather at the café, the Roses and the Brewers and a few of their friends. Twyla had joked that it was a rehearsal dinner, and asked David whether he brought his practice bouquet, before presenting him and Patrick with a vase full of wildflowers for their table. Looking around, David thinks they could have forgone tomorrow’s official party and just had this, instead, everyone they care most about in one place. The food will be a lot better tomorrow, though.

David is sitting in a booth with Alexis, listening intently as she tells him about her latest PR venture. He glances around the room, trying and failing not to look for Patrick.

“David, are you even listening to me?” Alexis asks, frowning so cutely that David almost rolls his eyes.

“Of course. You were saying that no one in the history of public relations has ever come up with an idea like yours before.”

She wiggles happily. “It’s true!” 

David tunes out again. He sees his mom and Marcy across the room, deep in conversation. They’re waiting at the counter for drink refills, probably gossiping about their latest television show re-watch. Marcy somehow has gotten Moira into cop shows – he thinks they’re watching something now with palm trees and tropical drinks and attractive men who are far too old to be jumping off buildings.

His dad and Clint are kicking back at the table next to him, with Roland, who wasn’t invited but showed up anyway. David had been amused at how well Clint hit it off with Roland, until he realized that, like Patrick, Clint can befriend anyone if he wants to. He’s well aware that Roland is likely telling Clint embarrassing stories about the two of them, but he doesn’t really care. Again, like Patrick, Clint is able to see the good in people, and that apparently includes David as well as Roland.

Twyla slides into the booth next to Alexis, and Alexis gives her a genuine smile and a kiss on the cheek. Alexis hasn’t made many lasting friends in life, but Twyla is definitely one of them. Alexis compliments Twyla’s embroidered dress, and when she looks away for a moment Twyla winks at David, mouthing “she gave it to me.” 

Twyla excuses herself after a few minutes, saying she needs to check on the fryer (David does not consider how one could leave a fryer alone, this is not his problem to deal with tonight). Then movement catches his eye and he finally sees Patrick coming around the corner from the bathroom. He’s walking on his own steam, using a hand carved oak walking stick that David got from a new vendor – it had been worth the two-hour drive to see Patrick grin as he discarded the ugly hospital one, tossing it into the corner of their closet with a flourish.

Patrick slides into the booth and David reaches over to pull him close, leaving his arm slung around Patrick and his chin tucked over his shoulder. “Missed you,” David murmurs, and Patrick kisses him on his nose.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Still.” David doesn’t have a witty response to this. He doesn’t care. Patrick doesn’t either.

He looks up to find Alexis beaming at them.

“What?” David demands, with just a hint of annoyance.

“I knew you two could do it,” she says, giving them a trademark Alexis shimmy. “I’ll be right back. I think we need some champagne.”

When Alexis gets up Patrick turns to David, eyes wide. “I wasn’t always sure we would,” he says softly, and David can see the echo of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Me neither,” David says, not wanting to hide this from Patrick. He puts a hand to Patrick’s cheek and brings their lips together, Patrick returning the kiss with a tenderness that almost brings tears to David’s eyes. “But I’m awfully glad Alexis was right.”

*****

Later they’re lying in bed, David curled up on Patrick’s chest, stroking gently over Patrick’s arm and shoulder, when Patrick shifts a little bit and sits up.

“Would you mind grabbing my guitar?”

David tilts his head, confused, but slides out of bed and fetches Patrick’s guitar from where it leans against the wall. “Taken by a sudden urge to practice your fingering?” David asks, then snorts at his own unintentional joke.

They have in fact returned to engaging in all of their favorite sexual activities, but were both too wiped out tonight from the pre-party festivities to indulge in anything other than simple but quite enjoyable hand jobs.

“No, not tonight, thanks,” Patrick says. 

“Rude,” David retorts.

Patrick gets the guitar arranged where he wants it, and David waits more or less patiently to see what’s going on. He refrains from making any comments about how glad he is that Patrick is playing. Patrick has been understandably frustrated with how his accident has made so many things more difficult. As of a few weeks ago, Patrick was still grumbling and cursing every time David caught him practicing.

David feels that all too familiar ache, but also a surge of pride, as Patrick finishes tuning. Patrick’s too far away, though, so David scoots over behind him, sitting between him and the headboard with Patrick’s back against his chest.

“This okay?” he asks, hands resting on Patrick’s waist where the blankets are pooled around his body. David likes it here, where he can watch Patrick play, but isn’t as exposed.

“Sure,” Patrick says. “It kind of fits, actually.”

“With what?” 

Patrick twists to look at David. “I was going to play this for you at the party tomorrow, but if it’s okay, I think I’d rather play it now.”

David searches his face. “Of course it’s okay.”

“I mean, I’ll probably find some other way to embarrass you in public, but…”

“But this is for us?” David asks softly.

“Yeah.” Patrick knows how uncomfortable David was when he serenaded him at the store’s open mic night all those years ago. Whatever he’s about to do now, David can weather it here, snug against Patrick’s bare skin, with no one to judge his reactions. 

For better or worse, a good part of their early relationship had played out in public – their first date at the café, the open mic night, countless kisses in the store with its broad glass windows facing the street, even their wedding, which practically turned into a group activity for the town. Lately they’ve been a lot more private, having to learn to relate to each other in the intimate space of their own home, with little else for distraction. 

They hit some rough spots, but David thinks they’re even stronger together than they were before. Here in the privacy of their home they don’t have to perform for anyone, they can just be. It has allowed them and sometimes even forced them both to be more vulnerable, whether they intended it or not.

Patrick turns back to the guitar and begins strumming. His body is tense against David’s, and David isn’t sure why, whether it’s the thought of the party tomorrow, with friends and family all there to see how well Patrick has (or hasn’t yet) recovered, or something about the intimacy of the moment, David so close to Patrick that he can practically feel the music vibrating through him.

“I haven’t heard you play this before,” David says after a moment.

Patrick stops for a second, distracted. “No, you haven’t.” He starts playing again.

“Did you write it?”

Patrick stops mid-strum. “No, I didn’t.” He starts again.

“I like it so far,” David says.

Patrick stops playing and turns to mock glare at David. “I’m going to murder you.”

David smirks at him. “Then at least I won’t have to finish vacuuming tomorrow morning.” 

Patrick sighs and David wraps his arms around him from behind, awkwardly threading his hands under the guitar. “I’m sorry,” David says. “I love you. You’re amazing.”

Patrick huffs, but he twists his head back towards David’s for a kiss. “Can I play now?”

“I’m listening,” David says, pulling his arms out of Patrick’s way and settling them back on his waist.

Patrick strums the beginning chords with ease, not tense any more. David relaxes into it too, smiling in anticipation. 

_This is the first day of my life._  
_Swear I was born right in the doorway_  
_I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed_  
_They're spreading blankets on the beach_

David recognizes the song as soon as Patrick starts singing the words. Years ago Alexis had made him watch a video of couples and families listening to it together, and David had cried so hard he had to go hide in the bathroom. At the time, David couldn’t imagine anyone caring for him enough to feel the way the singer feels, like they weren’t alive until they met him.

But Patrick does, and he’s singing his love to David now, head tilted down to look at the strings while David trembles at his back. David leans his forehead on Patrick’s shoulder, his hands gripping at his sides.

_Yours was the first face that I saw_  
_I think I was blind before I met you_  
_And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been_  
_But I know where I want to go_

_And so I'd thought I'd let you know_  
_Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow…_

Tears are running down David’s cheeks and onto Patrick’s shoulder. He feels like his heart is going to burst. It shouldn’t be possible, how Patrick can make him feel so loved and so terrified at the same time. 

_And you said_  
_"This is the first day of my life_  
_I'm glad I didn't die before I met you…”_

At this line David chokes out a sob, holding Patrick tighter. Patrick stops playing the guitar and sings on a capella, his voice getting huskier as he finishes the song.

_Maybe this time is different_  
_I mean, I think you really like me…_

As soon as Patrick is done David shifts around and kisses him, shaky and breathless with emotion.

“So you liked it?” Patrick asks, blushing and smiling delightedly.

“I love it,” David says. He can’t stop crying or kissing Patrick, and it’s a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

When David finally calms down, Patrick wipes his face with his fingers, and kisses him again, long and sweet. They curl up together against their pillows, exchanging kisses and endearments. 

“I wish I could sing to you,” David says into the soft skin behind Patrick’s ear. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick says. “I don’t need you to sing for me.”

“I sang to you in the hospital,” David confesses. It’s not really a time he likes to revisit, memories saturated with the mind-numbing fear of Patrick injured and unconscious.

“You did?” Patrick asks, shifting so he can see David’s face.

Patrick knows how David feels about public singing, how it scares him despite (or maybe because of) years of forced holiday party performances. But here with Patrick, in the safety of his husband’s arms, David isn’t afraid of being seen. And Patrick has just shown his heart to David once again. This time, David isn’t going to hide.

He rubs a hand up and down Patrick’s arm and smiles at him, warmth spreading through his body. “Yeah, I did. Want to hear it?”

Surprised and pleased, Patrick nods, and David starts to sing.

_You'll always be a part of me_  
_I'm part of you indefinitely_  
_Boy, don't you know you can't escape me?_  
_Ooh, darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Patrick sings in the Epilogue is Bright Eyes’ _First Day of My Life._ Grab a few tissues and watch the video [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUBYzpCNQ1I)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed coming on this journey with David and Patrick. Thank you all so much for your comments, they have meant the world to me. I'm having a great time writing SC fic, and more will be coming soon! ♥️


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